


Forelsket

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Hatchetfield Happies [1]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Flirting, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Paulkins - Freeform, paul and emma deserve a happy ending and i will give them one if it kills me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 107,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: (Danish/Norwegian): the feeling you have when you're falling in love, the euphoric feeling of walking on air.The world sucks sometimes, but there are always little moments that can make it better. Fluffy little snapshots of Paul and Emma getting to know each other and falling in love.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Hatchetfield Happies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699126
Comments: 558
Kudos: 269





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little self indulgent passion project. I have so many other unfinished works of my own that taking a little time to break into some drabbles is a nice break.
> 
> Also I've fallen deeply into the Starkid hole many years (nine to be exact) since my first obsession with them began. Black Friday really ignited a fire for Paulkins in my soul, so I joined this site to share that with you all. I hope you enjoy my delving into fluff for the first time in a while.
> 
> A disclaimer: I am not Norwegian. I am simply a girl on the internet who saw a cute meaning given to a word with a pretty graphic. When I looked further into it, I did see that forelsket can also be used to describe having a crush. Either way, I think it fits. Anyone who is Norwegian, I am sorry if I butchered a word in your language. I get distracted by cute things and pretty pictures.
> 
> Edit: tutselutse was so kind as to let me know that forelsket is also a Danish word! Which is neato!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets caught in the rain and accosted.

Rain was pelting down onto the sidewalk. Each large droplet came hammering down like a watery bullet only to fall to the ground and become nothing more than a layer of cold wet on the cement. It was early February in Hatchetfield, which made it odd that it was raining instead of snowing. Just the day before, it seemed like if you walked outside you would turn into a popsicle, yet the freezing air had turned into a mild blanket of water. 

People darted up and down the sidewalk, still buried in their coats. Umbrellas scratched up against one another. The sound reminded him of being in phys ed as a kid. Old Mr. Morrison seemed to have a different color windbreaker for every day of the week. No one wore any sort of wind breaker, though. They were all bundled up in their wool coats and puffer jackets still. The occasional brave soul passed by wearing only a hoodie, but they were a rare breed indeed.

Cars passed by, some speeding and some crawling. Tires made a sick squelch against the wet pavement. One man purposefully sped off to the side of the road and kicked a wall of dirty rain water up onto the passersby. Wet hurry quickly turned into drenched rage. A few people shouted. Another went to chase after the man unsuccessfully. For a moment, there was a quiet buzz that went humming through the air, intermingling with the patter of rain and squish of wet shoes getting wetter with each step. And just as quickly as it all happened, the world seemed to move on. 

Strange. That was the only way he could describe how the day felt. 

Paul had ducked under the awning attached to the local coffee shop he frequented. It was only meant to be temporary before he continued on his way. That morning, he dropped his car off at the shop--something about tires needing to be replaced and rotated and balanced, he couldn’t be sure. In the morning, the weather had been mild. A little overcast, but the sun seemed hopeful about eventually peeking through the clouds. 

Fully soaked from his coat to his socks, he was fully regretting his decision taking the half a mile walk to the CCRP Technical building from the auto shop. 

He glanced over his shoulder through the window of the coffee shop. It was packed. People in raincoats and boots tucked away at tables and into the corners of the shop. Some laughing and chatting about this and that. Others shivering and trying to shake off the chills from the surprising rain storm. The line was long as the girls at the front tried their best to take and execute orders in a timely fashion while also having time to sing for a tip. He craned his neck to try and see past the line of people crowding around the counter. Not that it would do much help, what he was looking for would be nearly impossible to see around the mass of people.

“I wouldn’t do it if I were you. Fuckin’ shit show in there,” someone said from beside him. The voice was unexpected and made him jump just a little. Partially because he was startled, but mostly because he was embarrassed that someone had caught him playing voyeur on the coffee shop. He looked to his right to find a woman, much shorter than him peeling off a green apron. _The latte hotte_ , he could hear Ted’s voice ringing in his mind. She scrunched her face up at him. “Jesus, dude. I know I just got off a nine hour shift, but I can’t look _that_ bad.”

It was at that moment he realized his eyes had widened at the realization of who the person standing next to him was. Nearly every single day he walked the extra block to visit the small coffee shop rather than stopping at the much closer Starbucks. The swirling letters on the awning above the door reading Beanies--though, to be fair, it really looked like it said Bcanico with the terrible lettering the designer chose--greeted him warmly and the bell attached to the inside of the door was like music to his ears. And then there was her.

The first day he went into Beanies was solely because the line at Starbucks was too long and his iPhone alerted him that there was another coffee place just a block away. The small store was cozy and neatly kept. Behind the counter, however, the barista--a short brunette with her hair in a mess on top of her head--was arguing with her customer. “ _Well, if you don’t like the way I made it, you can take your caramel iced mocha whatever-the-fuck and shove--_ ” She wasn’t able to finish because her manager stepped in at the last minute. With a scolding for the barista and a voucher for the gentleman, he watched the range of emotions run across her face. Anger at the berating customer. Annoyance at her manager for cutting in. Dismay at the customer winning the battle. Worry when her manager told her if she didn’t want to do the job she was told to do then she shouldn’t bother showing up for her next shift. Then stone cold retail face when her manager pointed out that she had a line.

“ _What can I get for you?_ ” she asked after taking a quick second for a deep breath in and out.

“ _I’ve got an easy one for you: one black coffee_.”

“ _One black coffee. You got it._ ”

He stood there, one hand holding onto his wallet and the other buried deep into the pocket of his suit jacket. “ _Uh, for… um… for what it’s worth… um…_ ” Words were not his forte, especially when he was nervous. Which was often.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, squinting slightly to try and figure out what he was getting at. “ _Excuse me_?”

Clearing his throat, he continued, “ _For what it’s worth, that guy should probably take that drink and shove it up his ass._ ”

In an attempt to hide her smile, she bit down on the inside of her lip, making her sharp jawline even more apparent. Gesturing to the back where her manager had disappeared to, she whispered, “ _From your lips to Satan’s ears, my man._ ” There wasn’t much more as far as banter went for the remainder of the transaction. He quietly paid for his coffee, wished her a good day, and threw a tip into the tip jar. He walked quickly back to the door hearing the bell jingle and the soft indie music fading behind him. Back by the counter, though, he could hear a mutter of astonishment. “ _Five bucks. How bout that?”_

And somewhere deep inside, he could feel a fluttering in his chest.

Staring down at her back underneath the awning, he wondered if she recognized him at all. That first trip was nearly a year and a half ago. Almost every single day he made his way into Beanies, hoping to see the barista, for an overpriced, mediocre at best cup of coffee. But here they were: she was wrapping herself up in a thin grey hoodie and he was standing, gobsmacked that she was there talking at him, with a drop of water sliding dangerously close to one of his eyes. 

“ _Okay_ then,” she muttered, turning her attention back to crumpling her green apron into a ball small enough to fit into one of her hoodie pockets. After a second, she turned back to him, eyes scanning his face. She hadn’t finished folding up her apron when a grin grew across her lips. “Hey, you’re that guy. The black coffee guy. The tip guy!” Her eyes dragged up and down his wet, suit-clad body as if to appraise him. “Gonna be honest, though, this whole--”she motioned up and down his body with her free hand, “--wet dog thing isn’t it for you, bud.”

In an instant, it was like his mind came sputtering back to reality. He blinked hard and begged his eyes to stop going so wide: an issue he had since he was a child ( _"_ _Paul’s got crazy eyes”_ ). “Well… um… y’know, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” he managed to spit out in response, mentally kicking himself for such a crappy answer.

She squinted at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, but the grin remained on her face even as she tilted her head to the side, trying to make out the direction the conversation was going. The apron was finally shoved into her pocket, though it was precariously hanging out like it was going to fall out at any moment. “Ah, yeah, Wayne Gretzky,” she shot back, flashing a couple of finger guns in his direction.

His eyebrows raised, causing the eyes to come back, but he managed to force out a smile and a finger gun of his own. “Yeah, Wayne Gretzky- Michael Scott.” Another zinger he couldn’t help but silently groan at. 

Eyes falling to the ground, she shook her head as her smile grew wider. “Something like that,” she chuckled. A pair of earbuds materialized from her pocket that wasn’t overcrowded by the apron. “Well, tip guy, while this has been a truly thrilling conversation, I’ve gotta get motoring. My car’s parked a block away, and there’s really no point in delaying my inevitable wet doom anymore.” She plugged the earbuds into her phone, which she tucked into the pocket of her shorts (a part of the uniform he imagined was horrible in the winter), and then popped a bud into each ear. “But I’ll catch ya around.” One final finger gun and exaggerated wink flew his way before she was taking off down the sidewalk. For someone with such short legs, she moved quickly and ducked and weaved around people with ease.

He watched until she disappeared into the sea of people grumbling about the terrible weather. His mouth had gone a little dry when she winked at him, and despite the chill in the air, he felt a warmth rising up from the back of his neck, onto his ears, and over his cheeks. The anxiousness he had always known didn’t quite feel like this. A real, genuine smile crossed his face then and a small breathy chuckle left his throat. He looked down at his feet, shaking his head, suddenly realizing his shoes would likely be ruined after this watery misadventure.

Before he could start agonizing over his shoes, a splash of green on the sidewalk caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

The apron did fall out. He leaned down and picked up the garment, muttering to himself about how he should have said something to her before she raced off. It was a disaster waiting to happen and he knew it from the moment she haphazardly shoved it into her pocket. He looked down at it. The thing was absolutely filthy. He made a note to throw it in the wash when he got home.

With a tight grip on the garment, he darted off back into the rain in the direction of the auto shop, still cursing himself for not having any better comebacks. “Next time,” he sighed beneath the rainfall. “Maybe.”


	2. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul drinks a Heineken and Emma contemplates white bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few of these already written, so please excuse a mass-posting. And by that I mean, like, 3 parts.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up sitting at the edge of a bar on a Friday night with the guy who kept very generously tipping her, but there she was, doing just that. She had been nursing the same Blue Moon for the past thirty minutes with her companion doing a similar job with his Heineken. What she really wanted was a straight shot of whisky. A bottle of Jameson behind the bartender was calling her name, but she had to drive. There was no way she was letting some stranger drive her around drunk. Not that she was a lightweight by any means. The shots just kind of went like potato chips: she couldn’t have just one.

The conversation between the two was steady and relatively uninteresting. He was a systems analyst at some technical place downtown. It was a couple of blocks away from Beanies. He didn’t care about sports, which were playing on every TV in the place. Hockey. Basketball. Baseball. Someone even got an employee to change one of the screens to college girl’s volleyball. He also declared his distaste for musicals but made sure to make the distinction between music and musicals. “Not music in general, but just… the singing and dancing. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Earlier that week, she found out his name was Paul. Of course it was, though. A normal name for a severely  _ normal _ guy. Looking at him, she thought he was a pretty plain white bread guy. Over her years in Guatemala, she had a fling or two with beautiful, seemingly unreal people, but now that she was back in Hatchetfield, she found herself at a bar that was overpriced for it’s lukewarm beers with the Wonder Bread boy.

When she thought about it, though, he was a little interesting to look at. His face was soft, no harsh edges at all in his jaw. He had these big bug eyes that seemed to bulge right out of his head from time to time, but once she got past the intensity of the crazy eyes, she realized that they were the truest shade of blue she’d ever seen in a person’s eyes. They looked like someone had colored in his eyes with the same crayon they used to color a blue sky. His nose was long, sloped down, and came back up in a little point like a ski ramp, and up close, she could see remnants of freckles sprinkled across its bridge.

What really fascinated her was his lips. They were plush and that shade of pink that every nude lipstick claims it is when it says it’s a “my lips but better” shade. It was like a couple of cushions had just decided to chill out in the middle of his face. He had a pair on him that every girl on Instagram pays thousands of dollars to have.

And she kept mentally smacking herself every time her thoughts drifted to thinking about how they might feel on hers.

She leaned forward on the bar, resting her upper arm flat on the wood and holding her head in her hand to look up at him. “So what’s your deal, Paul?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. There had to be something going on up in his head, though at that moment he was staring up at the TV minorly entranced by the Celtics game. For just a moment, he didn’t seem all that nervous to her, which he always seemed. He was constantly tripping over words and telling poorly timed terrible jokes. This endlessly entertained her, but when it seemed to cease even just momentarily, it seemed strange.

But watching him shift his gaze from up at the TV to her face made her heart skip a beat when his stupid buggy crayon eyes caught hers. The flips going on in her stomach made her feel uncomfortable and excited all at once. She hadn’t been on a date in years--not that this was a date--and certainly never one that made her get any feeling in her gut. Except for maybe run or that the person was a weirdo.

“I don’t know… I guess Heineken isn’t everyone’s favorite… and oh! I wasn’t watching the basketball game. I just kinda got lost in thought,” he yammered on, desperately trying to figure out what she was asking about.

“No, dummy. Like in general. What’s your deal? I mean, I get it. You’re a cog in the big corporate machine and won’t be seeing Mama Mia when it stops in town, but if this is gonna continue going on tonight, you’ve gotta give me just a little more to work with,” she explained before downing her last few mouthfuls of beer. He sat there, blinking at her, not sure where to take the conversation. “ _ Okay _ , where are you from, Paul.”

He looked ever so slightly relieved to have a prompt to go off of. “I’m from Hachetfield. Born and raised,” he told her. He tapped his thumb against the side of his beer bottle as if he were debating what to say next. His eyes were trained on the lip of his bottle. He brought the green glass up to his lips to take a sip, smiling when he put the bottle back down. “What about you?”

“That’s weird,” she responded, letting out a small laugh. “We’re the same age, right?” He nodded. “I grew up here, too. Left and then came back like a dumbass, but still. How did I never see you in school?”

“You probably went to Hatchetfield High.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I went to Sycamore.”

She raised her brows and leaned forward to give his shoulder a shove. “Fuckin’ Timberwolves!” she roared. Thankfully the bar was pretty packed and it was getting later, which meant the other inhabitants of the bar were also getting drunker. “We hated you guys!”

He smiled at her. A real beaming smile. Not the nervous one she was used to seeing at Beanies. Not the same anxious grin that crossed his red face when his friend with the mustache all but begged her to agree to get a drink with Paul, so they could stop getting Beanies’ shitty coffee. Not the hesitant look he gave her out in the rain. Not the jumpy stare he wore when he returned her lost apron fresh and clean. A big genuine smile, teeth and all.

His eyes drifted downward, but the smile didn’t fade, almost as though he were remembering a funny memory. “Yeah, well, we hated ourselves,” he revealed, eyes meeting hers again while he shrugged. 

At that, she gave what she was pretty sure was her first authentic laugh of the evening. Through her laughs, she kept an eye on his face. He was chuckling, too, and when he did, his eyes crinkled at the corners and there was a hint of something else there. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but what she did know was that she had come to terms with one thing.

White bread boy was kind of cute.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul literally comes home and has a moment with both Snoopy and Gordon Ramsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last finished pre-written guy I have done. I'm half way through a couple more, so there will be more to come! I hope you enjoy.

The keys to the small house Paul owned at the edge of town always crunched when he shoved them into the lock. It was something he noticed from the very first day he moved in, but never thought to do much of anything about. A crunchy lock was the type of annoyance that was just a minor inconvenience. The door still locked, and even though it sounded like someone poured sand into the small slot, it wasn’t hurting anyone to have it stay that way.

That was the same logic he applied to most of his life. If it wasn’t broken, he didn’t think about fixing it. Things were comfortable. He had a house that was cozy enough for his use. He had a job that paid him reasonably. He had friends that he could handle being around for a time. Then he would retreat back into his comfort zone. Things were fine and that’s how he liked them.

He pushed the door shut behind him and flicked on the light in the front hall. The walls were mostly white in the house, as they had been when he bought it. There wasn’t much by way of decoration. Even the furniture was the bare minimum. A table in what was meant to be a dining room with four chairs only because they came as a set. A black leather couch in the living room across from a moderately sized TV on a black cabinet that held a few DVDs. The kitchen was mostly barren. A toaster oven and a hook that held bananas. His buddy Bill was constantly telling him he was never going to get a girl with such a sad looking house.

Bill’s was exactly where he had been that evening. His friend’s daughter, Alice, was in town for the weekend, and having known Alice basically her whole life, he was naturally invited to dinner. He and Bill had worked together for a number of years. Bill was the reason Paul was able to get into CCRP so easily. He was just out of college with a bachelor’s in mathematics and unsure of where he was going or what he was doing. CCRP had an opening for a systems analyst: a job Bill had been working adjacent to for years.

Paul had babysat Alice for a number of years when he was in high school and during the first summer after he started college. He even drove her to school nearly every day while Bill and his--now ex--wife were going through the thick of their divorce. Alice liked him. He was quiet and didn’t mind if she watched TV more than her parents allowed her. They would play board games, and she always won. He’d also bring over video games for her to play. She liked Pokemon the best, but he would usually say that Zelda was better. When he was there to babysit, it also meant that they would have pizza for dinner because neither Bill nor his ex-wife would prepare ahead with dinner.

Bill’s ex-wife had primary custody of Alice, now a senior in high school herself, so she was only in town on the weekends. Occasionally, she would ask Bill to invite Paul for dinner, so they could have something other than pizza. She had taken to cooking and Bill was more than happy to let her trash his kitchen. Some of her cooking was horrendous, and other times, she made some pretty decent meals. The last few times she had come home, she had been trying more vegan dishes. Her girlfriend, Deb, was vegan, so she wanted to cater to that.

It was nice having a family dinner with Alice and Bill and even sometimes Deb. They talked about their weeks. Alice went on about how student government and drama club were going over in Clivesdale. Bill gave the play-by-play on the re-runs of SVU he had watched that week. Alice and Paul both were pretty sure he had already explained half of them already, but they humored him. Paul didn’t have much to add. Occasionally during their dinners, he’d have the entertaining story about a customer he saw in line at Beanies, but he just listened instead, which he was content to do.

At the end of the night, he hugged both Bill and Alice and wish the latter luck with the auditions for whatever the upcoming musical was. He didn’t know what it was because he didn’t care, though he knew he would be obligated to go and see it because of Alice. But he would not like it. They would hand him a container of leftovers to take home with him, which he would eat for dinner the next day. Bill would give him a clap on the back and tell him to text when he got home safely. 

He was home now, though, in his white house with his minimal everything. Something snaked around his legs, humming. He glanced down at the fluffy calico cat and smiled. “Hi, Janis.” Continuing into the house, he dropped the container of stuffed cabbage and his keys on the kitchen counter before he leaned down and scooped the cat up into his arms. She purred happily, kneading at his chest. “How was your night?”

He had adopted Janis shortly after he moved into the house. It was a little lonely being all by himself, and he had always thought about having a cat. His parents didn’t allow pets in the house growing up. Everything was to be kept neat and tidy at all times. They were a take your shoes off at the door type of family. He often said they could have eaten off of the floor it was so clean, which usually garnered him a glare from his mother.

In his own house, he not only had a cat, but he wore his shoes all the way to his bedroom before he put slippers on to laze about the house. Everything was still kept pretty tidy and he cleaned the house every Saturday afternoon. But it was his house and he had his own set of rules. One of them just so happened to yield to a furry four legged friend who was purring very loudly.

“That good, huh?” He stabilized her in his one arm like a baby and flipped another light switch with his free hand. Light flooded into the open dining room that merged with the living room. In the middle of his black Ikea table sat a stuffed animal. Snoopy wearing a bright orange spacesuit to be exact. The smile returned to his face as his gazed landed on the toy.

He and Emma had been on exactly three (and a half) dates. The first was at the bar, where they ended up talking right up until they closed. He found out that she dropped out of college soon after she started because she couldn’t handle the stress of classes and living with “ _ some dumb bitch _ ” who would stay up all night with her desk lamp on. The second was dinner at Franco’s. There, he discovered she hated eggplant because she very vocally declared it when she saw how many eggplant dishes the restaurant had on the menu. The half a date was when he stopped by Beanies on his lunch hour and they sat outside the shop on her break and drank the Starbucks he had picked up for them. He learned that she took her coffee with three sugars and a splash of milk.

Their most recent date, which was the weekend prior, was to the Planetarium. She had remarked about going there on a field trip as a kid, a sentiment he shared. They discussed their vague and scattered memories of the fourth grade. Travelling to the planetarium and sitting in on the presentation. “ _ It really made me feel small _ ,” he had told her, thinking back to the display of the stars up on the rounded ceiling. 

The look on her face changed from entertained to something darker. Not by much, but enough that he was able to notice the change. “ _ Well… _ ” she began, but her voice trailed off. They continued to wander past displays of the different planets in the solar system. Her eyes read as being just as far away as any of those planets. Maybe even somewhere in the depths of space among the stars. Just _distant_. “ _ Well, you sure aren’t small now _ ,” she finally said, the spark back in her eyes and light back on her face. “ _ I’d peg ya at what? Six foot? _ ”

“ _ Six one. _ ”

“ _ Close enough. Still not small _ .”

She convinced him to buy the little Snoopy because she thought the space suit looked like a prison jumpsuit. It had made her laugh enough that he couldn’t  _ not _ buy the little guy. The stuffed dog had been sitting in the middle of his table ever since, and it made him smile every time he got home.

Still balancing Janis in his one arm, he dug his iPhone out of his pocket to let Bill he made it home okay, but there were two notifications already sitting there. The first was from Bill, letting him know that he told Alice that Deb is fine and that he just had a hard time seeing that anyone was good enough for his daughter. It was something Bill read on the internet and brought to Paul for his opinion, which was that it was a fine idea. It went over well with Alice, and Paul congratulated him via text, also letting his friend know he didn’t die on his way home.

The second notification was actually for a few messages from Emma. They were two consecutive pictures of Gordon Ramsay. The first one pictured him looking down at his food, clearly displeased, with a subtitled “Wow” at the bottom. The second showed Gordon looking up at the camera, now holding the block of rice from his place up to his chest. The subtitle read: “Look at that. A boob, huh?”

He let out a hard exhale from his nose, as opposed to a full on laugh. His eyes continued down to the message she attached to the pictures:  _ me when you walk into beanies _ .

He actually laughed at that one.


	4. Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul drives a Prius (because of course he does) and there's a discussion about selling organs on the black market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love stupid fluffy things. They're a good distraction from the corona virus.

Emma sat on the ground in front of the door to her apartment. The complex wasn’t far from downtown and it had parking, which both were big pluses for her. Beanies was downtown along with the floral shop she worked in on her days off from the coffee hell hole. The walk was less than ten minutes away from her place, so she was able to save money on gas for when she had to drive to her night classes over at GHCCC (Greater Hatchetfield Clivesdale Community College). She was taking three classes: Intro to Biology, English Comp I, and Macroeconomics. They seemed hardly worth the gas, but she had paid good money to take them. Well, she had taken out good loans, so it was money she would have to pay eventually. 

Between the two jobs and classes, she was exhausted constantly, slightly concerned she might be developing hypertension from all the ramen noodles she was eating, and barely making her rent with two equally shitty paying jobs. The rent was right in her price range, and it showed. Even though she had direct access out to the parking lot from her front door, the apartment was small. The kitchen felt like a closet and the bedroom felt like a casket. It was cramped to say the least. The mess she left in her wake didn’t help. If someone entered and didn’t know any better, they might think a few teenage boys were living there. But no, just one nightmare human.

On this particular night, however, she wasn’t cracking open a cup-o-noodles while going over her biology notes. No, she was sitting in front of her door. In the dark. And the cold. She had locked herself out. It hadn’t happened since she first moved in a couple years before. The difference at that point was the complex manager hadn’t grown tired of her constant late payments yet and it was the middle of the day. She had just gotten home from her final class of the week with just enough gas to get her through to next payday.

Then she got to her front door and began to look for her key. A key that was not there.

After panicking for about ten minutes, she realized that she must have left her keyring at Beanies, which included her key to open up the store. She groaned but sent up a silent thank you to whoever was listening because she wasn’t opening the next day. And that it wasn’t raining.

She pulled out her phone, which was pretty low on battery, debating calling the complex manager to see if she could get yet another key. With a sigh, she thought better of it. That would end in nothing good. She was already on thin ice with him. It wasn’t worth the possibility of getting kicked out over the next stupid thing she did. Nora was the next person she debated texting. Maybe she could get the store open and have her keys. Nora would be pissed at her for the next three months, but she could get in her apartment and sleep in her mountain of mess. But again, it wasn’t worth the probability that she could lose one of her shitty paying jobs. She couldn’t afford that. Tom was also an option. Her estranged brother-in-law. She could potentially even spend the evening with her nine year old nephew she only met two years ago. Again, though, not worth the headache.

Against her better judgment, she decided to text the only person in Hatchetfield who wouldn’t be pissed off at her for inconveniencing them at nine PM on a Thursday.

Headlights washed over her. The light was blinding, so she raised a hand to shield her eyes. The blue car pulled up and parked perpendicular with her clunker. She heard the gears shift into park and the driver’s side door open. “Emma?”

“Hey, Paul,” she muttered, gathering up her backpack and slowly bringing herself to her feet. Her butt felt like it was asleep from sitting on the concrete for so long. “Thanks for coming. Sorry to bother you. Left my fucking keys at cafe hell.”

“No worries,” Paul replied simply. He had walked over to her, likely with the intent of helping her off the sidewalk but stopped when she got up on her own and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. They both walked back to the car in silence. Paul opened up the driver’s side door to get in but watched on as Emma walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door, bag in hand. “You can throw that in the back… if you want. Or hold it. Or just whatever you want.”

She pursed her lips and nodded as she plopped down into the front seat, bag resting on the floor down by her feet. He climbed in after she did and closed his door. As he put the car into drive, a realization hit her. Paul drove a Prius because  _ of course Paul drove a Prius _ . It would explain why he kept coming to Beanies: poor decision making.

“Listen, thanks again for coming to grab me.”

“Yeah, no worries. My pleasure.”

His voice this time sounded less anxious than it did when he arrived. That’s how the last few times they went out seemed to go. He would arrive so tightly wound it was hard to even be around, but as the evening would go on, he unraveled a little. Sometimes, he was even funny. Not as much of a comedian as her, but he kept up well enough.

“It’s a little far, but I do have this professor. He’s a little...uh… reclusive? And kooky. But I think he’d let me stay--”

“I mean, you could stay at my place.” His eyes went wide when he realized the words that managed to pass his dialogue filter. “Or not?! You don’t have to do anything. Or stay anywhere,” he sputtered. The display for the radio (currently playing Shout by Tears For Fears, a song choice she made a mental note to ask him about at some point) lit up his face just enough for her to see his cheeks getting red.

“This is a  _ really _ weird time to try and get me to go home with you.” She knew that wasn’t what he was going for, or at least she was pretty sure. It was fun to taunt him.

“No! No, that’s not… I have a spare bedroom, and I could drop you off at Beanies in the morning. But I wasn’t… no, I’ll bring you to your professor’s. Just don’t listen to me.”

She considered his offer. It did make more sense to be somewhere where she could get to work in the morning, and they had been seeing each other for a couple of months. If he was going to murder her, it probably would have happened already. And he  _ did _ say he had a spare room. “You’re not planning on murdering me, right?”

His eyes went even wider. “What?”

“You know. Kill me. Harvest my organs. Sell them on the black market,” she rattled off as if it were common sense. “C’mon, Paul. You’d make a killing.”

“ _ What _ ?!” he repeated, both hands white knuckling the steering wheel. “No. What?”

“Paul,” she laughed, patting his arm. “I’m joking.” She watched his brow furrow and shoulders sag slightly. Her hand slid off of his arm and back into her lap. She picked at the skin on the side of her thumb. “But that’s really fucking kind of you to offer that and…” She thought about all the times in school she felt lost or stupid because she wasn’t a prodigy like her sister. All the times she lashed out when people reached out or tried to get close. All the times she ran away instead of facing things head on. “I’d really appreciate you letting me stay over tonight.”

A smile touched his lips, and it must have been contagious because she felt one coming over her as well. It stuck to her for the rest of the drive as the music shuffled through various sad, British, post-punk music. 

He was a careful driver. Stopping completely at stop signs even when it was clear no one was coming. Driving barely over the speed limit. Putting his blinker on even to turn into his driveway when no one else was around. He drove either like a mother with a newborn in the backseat or like someone who just got a wicked ticket for speeding. 

His house was small, but neatly kept. A few bushes around the front steps. Stone pathway leading from the driveway that was wide enough for two cars. From what she could tell in the dark, the siding was a light blue with white trim and shutters and the front door was red. It was a cute little house. Something you’d picture with a beautiful set of flowers in the front yard during the spring and summer and covered in gold and orange leaves in the fall. Though the fact that he owned a house and she was stuck living in a shoebox did make her question her own decision making.

She trailed behind him as he walked up the walkway to the front door. The key in the lock made a soft crunching sound, like someone walking on a gravel road. When he pushed the door open and turned on the light, the house was illuminated in all its plain glory. Everything was very simple. His decor and furnishing was minimal and that was putting it lightly. It reminded her of when her parents had decided they wanted to try and sell their house. Very barren and  _ very clean _ .

He gestured her forward, so he could press the door shut and turn the lock. She slowly continued forward into the dark house only to be greeted by a pair of glowing eyes. “Uhhh, Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have demons?”

“I’m sorry?” He popped out from in the kitchen, where she heard him drop his keys. The initial look on his face was one of concern, which quickly turned to one of amusement. “Oh, I guess maybe yeah. Sometimes.” He reached around her, his front just barely grazing her back. She felt her heart skip. Light filled the room, and to her surprise, a fluffy cat sat staring back at her. “This is Janis.”

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” she breathed, partially relieved that it was just a cat, partially reeling from his proximity. When her heart slowed down enough, she could hear his breathing grow ever so slightly ragged as well. “Didn’t take you for a cat person.” Listening to her brain, she moved forward and reached out to pet the cat, but her heart was telling her to stay where she was. Janis purred as her chin was scratched, leaning into Emma’s pets. “Cute, though.”

“I’m not home enough for a dog. It wouldn’t be fair to keep one cooped up here all day. And I don’t get birds. What kind of pet is a  _ bird _ ? Honestly, just get sea monkeys. At least they smell better than a fucking bird,” he yammered on. Much like his distaste in musicals, his dislike of birds seemed irrational but entertaining nonetheless.

“What’s your take on lizards?”

“Oh, I can get behind lizards. Bad ass.”

She smirked up at him. He looked tired. A little worn out maybe. He said work had been a little crazy and he was even taking a lot of work home with him to do late into the night. While it had been nice having a phone buddy on nights where she was up late writing papers, she realized he was just as run down at her. Despite the exhaustion, he still had a fond look on his face as he watched her. Even if she had dragged him out either on his one free night or in the middle of his work, he still continued to look at her like she was a glass of milk to go with some fresh baked cookies: just what he was looking for.

“I can show you the spare room,” he said, breaking the quiet stare between them. He walked towards the small staircase off of the living room. “And if you want, I have some stuff you can wear for bed.” She stopped scratching the cat, much to Janis’s dismay, and followed him, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder. 

Upstairs was just as plain and tidy, but instead of hardwood, it was carpeted. White carpet. A nightmare for her. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a closet. He pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. There was a bed with a nightstand that held a lamp and a small set of drawers. Simple but mostly empty. “Not the penthouse here, huh?” she teased, walking past him and dumping her backpack onto the bed.

“I’ll try to make sure to restock the tiny shampoos and towel animals if you come again, okay?” He stood by the door still, staring at her, looking like he wanted to say something to her. Like there was something right on the tip of his tongue, but it refused to come out. Narrowing her eyes a bit, she smiled at him as if to tell him to spit it out. His eyes lowered to the floor. “I’ll go grab you some clothes for bed and a toothbrush.” With that, he backed out of the room and down the hall.

In the hallway, Janis was sitting just outside of the room, tail flicking back and forth. She had big green eyes that sort of stared into your soul. Like she was aware of everything going on around her. Like she was the big eyed protector of her big eyed owner. But, Emma reminded herself, she was also a cat who licked her own butthole, coughed up hairballs, and no opposable thumbs.

She walked towards the door as the door to give the cat a few more scratches to make sure she was on the animal’s good side, but Janis scampered down the hallway. Without looking into the hall, she went to dart out after the cat. Instead of the cat, she found herself running right into Paul. “Sweet baby Jesus,” she gasped, steadying herself so she didn’t fall backwards. “How the fuck are you so quiet? You're so big and gangly but you walk around like a fucking elf!”

They were standing chest to chest. Well, not so much chest to chest. Her face was directly in his chest. The only thing separating them was the pile of clothes he had brought over for her. She craned her neck to look up at him. Even after all the handful of dates they’d been on, the late night phone calls they’ve had, the stupid shit posts they’d send back and forth to each other, they’d never been this close before. There hadn’t even been that much contact between them save for Emma reaching out and touching his arm or his shoulder now and again. Yet here they were, close enough to press up against each other. Close enough to hold each other.

“I can see up your nose.”

And there it was. The line that would throw him off.

“See anything good?”

She grinned, chuckling, “No, all clear. Figured you’d wanna know.” He smiled back. His gaze was soft and not nearly as anxious as she felt. To be fair, they were on his home turf, so it would make sense that he might be a little more at ease. But he also was so nervous about even asking her to come over. Some mixed signals had been coming her way. “Hey, Paul?”

Their stare at each other continued, unbreaking. The hand holding the clothes had fallen to his side like he was in a trance. “What’s up?” he responded, voice quieter and calmer than she had ever heard it.

“I’m gonna kiss you right now, alright?”

His brows went up and eyes went wide.  _ There he is _ . “Um, okay,” his voice went a little higher than he anticipated. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Okay.”

“Okay.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his face down to hers. Their faces were close enough she could smell the spearmint on his breath. She could see just how light his eyes were. Icy in some spots even. “I like your eyes, Paul.”

“Please don’t sell them on the black market.”

She pressed her lips against his, laughing all the while. Each of her hands took their places on either side of his face. As the giggles faded, she heard the clothes and toothbrush fall to the ground and his hand land on her waist. His lips were soft like she had imagined. Like he had never had chapped lips before in his life. Or invested stock in Chapstick. And he smelled nice. His deodorant had a spiced smell to it and he had just a trace of cologne left on him from the day. There was just a slight grit to his cheeks like he was on the verge of having to give himself a clean shave.

His kisses were gentle and easy, allowing her to lead, as it had been for the past couple of months. It took what felt like an eternity for his other hand to rest on her cheek. Even his hands were soft. She had to find out what kind of moisturizer this guy was using. The hand on her waist pulled her in just a little closer, causing her to let out an involuntary yip.

She had hooked up with plenty of people over the last decade, yet this gangly corporate squid was giving her the best kiss she’d ever had. The logic wasn’t there, but she didn’t really care.

He was the one to break away from her. When she opened her eyes, his were still closed and his forehead was pressed against her. “Hey, Emma,” he sighed, loosening his grip on her waist just a little bit.

“Hey, Paul.”

“I didn’t keep coming into Beanies for the coffee,” he admitted, eyes fluttering open. They weren’t wide anymore. A little nervous, though, as if he were divulging some deep dark secret.

“Well, yeah. The coffee’s shit and the service is shit and the atmosphere is shit and the singing is  _ horseshit _ ,” her voice was the quiet one now, and she was almost never quiet. Their eyes scanned over each other's faces. Her hands were still holding onto his cheeks, and the more she was looking at him up close, the cuter his face became. Or maybe it was the more she saw him in general. It was a face like apple pie: sweet and it left her wanting more. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really glad your asshole friend kinda forced you to get my number.”

“Ugh,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Ted’s not my friend. I just work with him, and he and I were talking about Beanies and the ‘latte hottay’--”

“The  _ who _ ?”

“Well, it was… so Ted gave me shit for not inviting him to Beanies with me and then called me out for just going there for a girl. And then he did this Borat voice--”

“Y’know what? Just tell me later because you’re about to ruin this fucking mood, so either you get a fucking move on or I’m just going to bed right now.”

He backed away slightly, looking at her confused for a moment before going wide eyed again. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure I’m not reading into this the wrong way.”

“Oh my fucking  _ god _ ,” she groaned, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him down the hall to the other room. 


	5. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma go to a family barbeque and talk about coatimundis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys are enjoying my self indulgent ramblings. Thanks for reading!!

Paul didn’t like spending time with his family.

He liked his quiet life in his small house with his cat and his work friends and his  _ maybe  _ girlfriend(?). It was easy enough to get out of holiday gatherings since his parents and brothers had all moved out of Hatchetfield. Even if CCRP Technical gave off then entire last week of December and the Friday after Thanksgiving, nobody else had to know that. He often spent one of the holidays with Bill and Alice. The other he would sometimes get invited to their co-worker Charlotte’s house, which always yielded interesting stories. She and her police sergeant husband weren’t exactly the most functional couple. They couldn’t even keep a good face in front of guests.

It was normally hassle-free getting out of holiday get-togethers.

But when the fourth of July rolled around and his parent’s barbeque was doubling as an engagement party for one of his older brothers, he couldn’t get out of not going. Even if July fourth just gave people a reason to get wasted and watch fireworks. It was a Friday, and even Paul in all his excuse-making glory couldn’t give them a good reason for not going.

Emma had come over with take out burgers and fries a couple weeks before the barbeque. She took easily to not knocking after the second or third time she came over. Just barging in suited her better anyway, and that night was no exception. “ _ You better thank me for not eating all these fries on the way here because, god, was it hard not to _ ,” she grumbled as she nudged the door closed behind her with her hip. Her shift at Beanies had ended about a half hour before, so he had called in their order beforehand for her to grab. He watched through the window-like opening between the dining room and kitchen as she struggled to grab two plates from the cabinets. “ _ Couldn’t move ‘em down just a little bit? Or, like, get them out before I fucking get here? _ ”

He smiled, but it didn’t match the look the rest of his face was giving. She narrowed her eyes at him, stacking the back of food on top of the plates and walking over to the couch where he was sitting. “ _ Alright, either you just read that there’s a new plague causing everyone to burst into spontaneous musical numbers or there’s something wrong _ .” She placed the plates and food on the table before plopping down to face him on the couch. “ _ I’m gonna guess it’s the second one, though. You’re not nearly stressed enough for it to be flash-mob related. _ ”

That made him laugh even if only slightly. “ _ That’d be… horrifying, but no, I haven’t read anything on that yet. Flash-mobs are bad enough, but if it was a plague, I think I’d just have to find that professor of yours and beg to be let into the fortress _ ,” he tried to play along with the joke, but she was right. He was stressed. Stressed about having to be with his family. Potentially for more than one day even. It was a three hour drive one way, so doing it all in one day didn’t make a ton of sense. “ _ No, um, my brother got engaged and there’s a thing for him on the fourth at my parent’s house.” _

“ _ You have brothers? No shit.” _

_ “Yes shit. I haven’t gone to anything in a while with them. It’s-- _ ”

“ _ You should go. _ ”

“ _ I don’t know. It’s hard to be around all of  _ that _.” _

Her face grew serious, which was rare. She was one to keep things light even in moments where he had tried to make them more serious. So it was odd to him that this was a moment she chose to not make the topic light. “ _ Seriously, you should go. I’m sure it feels fucking awful and stupid, but I think you’d regret not going at some point. Maybe not for a while, but it’ll happen _ .” Her eyes averted from him, and she went to working at the plastic bag bow that tied up their food. The aluminum container with his (cheeseburger with American cheese and pickles) was laid on a plate and slid towards him. She repeated the same with hers (turkey burger with pepperjack and sauteed onions).

He took a deep breath in, thinking about what he was about to say. She had the tendency to want to make things look more casual on the outside than they seemed on the inside. Whenever he went into Beanies, it was always deny, deny, deny to her co-workers, who did like to give her a hard time about nearly everything. But when they ran into his friends one Saturday night they decided to get ice cream, she still chose to deny it. “ _ We… haven’t put a label on it yet _ .” Not that it bothered him enough to fight her on it. He cared about her being around more than a title. It just made it a little more difficult to broach certain subjects.

“ _ They said I can bring a guest with me. _ ”

“ _ Bet Ted would eat your family up. Probably all a bunch of blue eyed giants. _ ” She picked an onion out from underneath the top bun of her burger and placed it in her mouth. His eyes had shifted to the couch between them. With an arched brow, she threw a french fry in her mouth. “ _ Not Ted, huh? _ ”

“ _ No. _ ”

“ _ Will there be booze?” _

“ _ I have three brothers whose frat days never  _ really  _ ended for them and a family that just generally doesn’t get along. You bet your ass there’ll be booze. _ ”

“ _ Well, then I guess that beats my plans of fucking nothing on the fourth, so I guess I can make it. _ ” He leaned over and kissed her despite the mouthful of burger she had just chomped down on. “ _ Das fuckin gross, Paul. _ ”

But there they were, sitting in his parent’s driveway right in the heart of Eastbridge. The house was huge, especially for two older people just living on their own. Bay windows. Pillars. Three car garage. Landscaping that looked expensive enough that it should have a stay off the grass sign. “ _ Jesus, Paul _ . Where the hell are we?” she mumbled, taking in the brick laid driveway and neatly trimmed grass. “Are your folks loaded or something?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes darting around to the house he had rarely been in since he helped them move in years ago. “Yeah, I, um, grew up in Pinebrook.”

Looking back at him, incredulously, she shook her head. “Unbelievable. Pinebrook, as in the huge houses with the bigass yards?” she questioned, looking between him and the line of shiny newer model cars that lined up the driveway. He nodded, leaning his head back on the headrest. She glanced back at him, softening slightly. Gently, she rested an arm on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright.”

“I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Hey, now. Look at me.” He did so by rolling his neck just enough to look down at her. “You could be dying in Hatchetfield, so let’s get moving.”

He couldn’t help but hang back for a second as she climbed out of the car. His heart was in his throat. Growing up the youngest of an athletically gifted, conventionally attractive family of boys being quiet and better at math than baseball wasn’t easy. Growing up as the disappointment made it difficult to keep coming back for more punishment as an adult. Especially as each brother got big wig jobs and married their beautiful girlfriends and had beautiful, loud, rude children.

A banging on his window made him jump out of his thoughts. Emma was there, black tank top, hair up in a ponytail, with one hand on her hip and the other holding a case of Heineken he had picked up a couple days in advance. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s get motoring. I’ve got some beer to get drinking.” He climbed out, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs the entire time. The heat was creeping up the back of his neck and up onto his head. It wasn’t even that hot out. He couldn’t possibly be overheating. Maybe he was having a heart attack. That would be a good excuse to not go inside. “Hey.” Her hand landed on his chest, pulling him from his heat-induced drifting. “It’s okay,” she whispered it this time, more earnest than before. She looked right up at him, locking their eyes before patting his chest and pushing on his back to move him forward.

He rang the doorbell once they were at the door, which confused both of them. Beyond it, they could hear dogs barking, kids screaming, and the Pina Colada song playing. Looking down at her, he felt his eyes panicked. “Are you sure you don’t wanna just go back? There’s this place with really great fireworks between here and--”

“Well, look at this.”

The door had swung open to reveal a woman, tall and older. Her hair was cut into a sleek brown bob and her eyes were the same piercing shade of blue and excessive size as Paul’s. Her face was slender, to be honest her  _ everything _ was slender, but soft and ovular. There were gentle lines that graced the corners of her eyes and just underneath them, but it would seem that she tried not to smile because her cheeks were minimally wrinkled, though she did have a small smile on her full lips.

Paul laughed, clearly uncomfortable, scratching the back of his neck. “Hi, Mom. Happy fourth.” He leaned in and they shared a stiff hug. Not one that you would expect a mother and son to share after not seeing each other for an extended period of time. “You, um, look great!”

She laughed, not a full genuine laugh. “Well, Mary Ellen--you remember--has started up her pilates classes again, so I have my nose to the grindstone again,” she responded. He couldn’t help but pray that Emma’s lack of poker face wasn’t coming out to play. Because the rich white lady voice his mother had was something that would send her annoyance reeling. His mother’s gaze turned to the woman beside him, and her eyes lit up. “And  _ who  _ is this?”

“Oh, um, Mom, this is Emma,” he yammered out in response, getting a strange look from both women. He was sputtering. He debated saying partner because it was ambiguous. Were they dating? Did they go into business together? Was there a rodeo where those to cowboys were heading afterwards? The options were limited, but he settled on, “My… my, um, Emma.” And he wanted to kick himself in the head.

His mother raised a carefully groomed eyebrow and opened her mouth as if she were about to question him. Emma’s small hand reached out and shook the older woman’s almost in a panic herself. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Emma, Paul’s girlfriend,” the words came out of her mouth so fluidly he couldn’t keep the bemused look off of his face.

Another slight smile graced the woman’s features. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” she replied, holding onto her hand longer than Emma anticipated. Her fingers long and graceful, like she remembered her grandmother’s being. “You may call me Astrid. Please, come in.” She moved from the doorway into the house. Paul gestured for Emma to step ahead of him and then shut the door behind them. Turning back slightly, Emma mouthed ‘ _ Astrid? _ ’ to which he rolled his eyes, causing her to stifle a laugh.

The house was huge and beautiful, but sterile. Almost like a museum where no one was allowed to touch anything anywhere. There was a lot more hardwood than she had anticipated, but it wasn’t well worn as she would expect a grandparent’s house to look. The home was almost sterile like a hospital after flu season. Back in the kitchen, there was so much marble she didn’t know what to do with herself. It was almost blinding how white everything was.

“Well, I’ll be  _ damned _ .” The first brother to approach, she learned, was named Dan. He was just a year older than Paul and the one who had just gotten engaged to one of the women scattered about the kitchen. All of them equally tall and beautiful. Dan was a pension manager for a big company in New York and owned a house that was similar to the parent’s home. “We thought our baby brother was just going to bring a dude home one day,” he roared, clapping Paul hard on the back. “When was the last time you brought a girl home? Prom? Did you even--”

“No, I didn’t,” Paul glowered, eyes glaring at his brother. “I didn’t go.”

“Couldn’t get a date,” another brother hollered from the corner. This one was Glen Jr. He was the oldest and arguably the golden child. He soared straight through college on a football scholarship with a strong jaw, ashy blonde hair, and big baby blue eyes. When she thought about them standing next to one another, she could see where he and Paul could have been related, but she wouldn’t have guessed it.

“Didn’t want a date.  _ Didn’t want to go _ ,” Paul argued, cracking open a beer and taking a few long glugs out of it.

“Oh, don’t let us embarrass you in front of your girl here,” the final brother, Jack, chimed in. He was the closest in looks to the youngest. A little less of a beanpole and a little sharper of a jaw, but same buggy eyes and long sloping nose. He also seemed a little more legitimate in his words. He extended a hand to her. “Nice to see our guy Paul here finally found someone to put up with his fucking socially awkward ways.”

Emma shook his hand, and Paul grumbled more to himself than anyone else, “I’m not  _ that  _ awkward.”

He was, but she decided the poor guy needed a break. Especially with the brothers continuing to crack jokes at his expense. They were all boisterous and energetic and, frankly, obnoxious. She couldn’t imagine they had been any better as teenagers. A bunch of high and mighty smelly teenage boys. She didn’t want to even think about it, let alone have to relive it in combination with the gaggle of children that were running in and out of the house screaming and giggling.

A pair of hands gripped onto Paul’s shoulders, and he jumped. “Still just as jumpy.” The man behind him was tall, taller than Paul was, and sported a thick salt and pepper mustache. “Take is easy, Paul. No one’s here to shove you in a locker.” They all laughed like it was some inside joke that neither she nor Paul were in on. The large man turned his attention to her. “And you are?”

“Emma,” she replied simply, not really finding herself amused by all the antics. “The girlfriend.” She shrugged. Paul really wished he was feeling less mortified, so he could revel in her saying the words out loud more.

“Well, Emma,” he began, voice deeper than any of the boys. “You’re a little short for this crowd, don’t you think?”

“Well, at least I’m not tall enough to be mistaken for three kids in a trench coat.”

He pondered her answer for a second as Paul prepared for disaster. Glen Sr. wasn’t the warmest or fuzziest person. He liked to make jokes at other people’s expense, but never did well when it was pushed back onto him. “Small with a mouth too. Not exactly what we’d expect,” he stated almost like it was a matter of fact. “Glen.” He extended one big hand in her direction. She shook it as firmly as she could, not wanting to back down.

After the initial hype had died down a little bit, more people began arriving. Aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. Each person that came up to Paul was surprised to see he had brought someone with him, even more surprised than him just showing up. There were multiple mentions of him being a shy kid. A weird kid. Just a kid who was good at math and stuck himself in the library more often than not. A kid who got shoved into a locker before he actually hit his growth spurt the summer before sophomore year of high school. A kid who potentially got shoved into a locker by his own brothers.

They ended up off at the edge of the pool, sitting with their feet in the pool drinking their beers. He didn’t have much to say about any of it. In fact, his level of silence was almost disconcerting to her. He was weird and awkward, sure, but that never stopped him from having this odd charming way about him. He seemed beaten down. Quiet and withdrawn. Like a kid who had just been punished for something he didn’t even do. 

She rested her head on his shoulder. The kids were starting to simmer down, or at the very least, they were deeply distracted by the popsicles they had just received. The sun was starting to set over the horizon, leaving trails of orange and pink and blue all over the sky in its wake. They both had their share of beers over the course of the day, and at some point she had convinced him to take two shots of the top shelf tequila they found at the back of the liquor cabinet. Her mind was a little fuzzy, but she liked being with him. Not in that place in particular, because the longer she was there, the more she felt like she was going to kick someone’s ass.

“Hey,” he sighed, turning his head to look down at her.

“Hey,” she repeated, tilting her head to return his glance. His cheeks were stained pink from the alcohol and his eyes looked exhausted. Something in his face made him look like a little kid. Innocent and sad. “Sorry for guilting you into coming.”

“You didn’t know. I could’ve said no, too.”

“Not that it means anything, but you did a good job not flipping your shit back there. I would’ve been on them like a coatimundi trying to steal your lunch.”

He smirked down at her. “What the hell is a coatimundi?”

“Oh, just like this raccoon, badger thing. They had them in Guatemala. They just get up in your shit all the time and it’s annoying as  _ fuck _ .”

There was a low chuckle from him, and then they sat in silence for a moment. If not for the family that had been up Paul’s ass all day, sitting watching the sunset buzzed off of expensive alcohol would have been a fine way to end the evening. He had to admit, however, it had been a lot easier to ignore everyone with her there. Someone was able to run interference for him when things were looking to get bad. On top of that, it allowed for there to be less insensitive jokes thrown his way, making a regular and uncontrollable aspect of life seem like something to be ashamed of. 

It was also entertaining to watch Emma try to calmly argue with Dan about the current political state, climate change, and marriage equality. He thought her head was going to explode or his brother was going to blow a gasket. Either way, he had his money on her.

“So uh…” He looked straight out across the pool to the patio area where all the rest of his family had gathered and begun strewing themselves about the chairs casually. If he had been there on his own, he would have felt obligated to join them. Sitting with her watching on as they continued drinking their way into family bonding felt better, though, and it was a relief. “Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have made sense if your friend was willing to get sloppy drunk and fucking fight your dad,” she explained, taking a long sip from her beer. “Which is still on the table. Say the word and I will full on grab that expensive ass whisky and we’ll be in business.”

“Go full coatimundi on him?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

He smiled, teeth and all, chuckling down at the water. With a light pat on his knee, she grabbed his empty beer bottle and pulled her feet out of the water. He watched as she walked over to the cooler and pulled out two more, attempting to ignore Glen Jr.’s drunken heckles. He couldn’t quite decipher his brother’s words, but Emma’s came out clear and in the high pitched mocking tone she used at Beanies regularly. “Wow so sweet and mature. Your child looks like a dollar store brand Barbie doll and can’t even wipe his own ass at nine years old.” She walked away with a middle finger in the air, not looking back at his stunned face.

Yeah, things were better with her around.


	6. Evasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma doesn't understand watching parades on TV and Paul reads about a serial killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late night ditty here. Enjoy!

That summer she spends a lot more time at Paul’s than at her apartment. For one, his house was actually clean. There’s no saying what was actually beneath the mounds of clothes and junk at her place. Probably dead woodland creatures. Maybe the map to the fountain of youth. It didn’t really matter because it was such a nightmare the place would likely have to be burned to the ground to properly cleanse it.

He was neat and tidy. Even if she left her stuff haphazardly all over the ground, she would return to it neatly folded or placed where it belongs. It was something that they never talked about. He didn’t complain about it. Though, to be fair, he didn’t complain about a lot. Except for musical jingles on TV or Ted’s incessant grossness. He was just sort of content to go about his day doing things. One morning she found him putting away dishes before he had even finished his coffee. He was still wearing his glasses and his eyes were barely open, but he was already straightening up.

That was another thing she learned about him staying there over multiple days. He wore glasses. Mostly in the mornings or other times his eyes got tired or when he was on the computer for an extended period of time. They were just a little strained, he had explained to her. “ _ What a cute little fucking nerd _ ,” she had cooed, pinching his nose between her thumb and her index finger.

It was nice coming in after a long day in the pits of hell to him sitting on the couch with Janis curled up near his head while he read a book. The first time it happened, she froze in the doorway and thought about turning around and running. It all felt too…  _ domestic _ . That was the farthest thing from what she ever wanted. She wanted to travel the world and never have to worry about what she was leaving in her wake. Moving from place to place. Seeing the world. Never setting too deep of roots anywhere.

But then he looked up, face serious. “ _ You hear about this book? _ ” He held it above his head, causing her to squint at the font on the black and yellow cover.  _ I’ll Be Gone In The Dark _ . Putting the book back down in his lap, he shook his head. “ _ People are…  _ fucked _ up, _ ” he muttered and then immediately returned to reading. The breath she had unknowingly been holding in released and she felt instantly calmer. If this was the domestic house she was in, she supposed it wasn’t so bad. Even the cat didn’t stop her napping to come and say hello. 

What she had grown the most attached to was getting into bed at the end of the night. She would never admit it, but it was a hell of a lot nicer falling asleep next to someone. Wrapped up by someone. He often would end up rolling over in the middle of the night and pulling her closer to him, whether she was facing him or not. She couldn’t be sure if he was fully awake or not when he did it, but she liked it. No one would ever know. She wouldn’t even tell Janis, who was a fantastic secret keeper.

The nightstand on the side of the bed she had laid claim to was filled with her things. Hair ties. Deodorant. A brush. Condoms. Her keys usually. A small bottle of black cherry Smirnoff. All the necessities. He usually was in bed first, having a very clear cut bedtime ritual. Shower. Brush teeth. Skin care. Into bed. On the other hand, she just went in whatever order she felt like that night. Sometimes she would skip the skin care. Usually, she didn’t floss. Then she’d peel off her clothes and hop into bed.

It was like this most nights. Some nights he would read before finally turning the lights off and going to bed. Other times, he was conked out right when his head hit the pillow. On certain nights, though, usually on nights that preceded a day off for both of them, they would talk. Not usually about anything in particular. Just chatting about anything that came to mind. Sometimes aliens. Sometimes politics. Sometimes how big of a bitch her manager was and how she was never going to sing for a fucking dollar.

One night, she laid on her back while Paul rested his head on her chest while she blathered on about a whole lot of nothing. “And here’s the thing, I just don’t  _ get _ the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade,” she ranted, one hand waving around fanatically while she ran her fingers through his hair with the other. “Like ‘oh hey, here you go. Have this giant fucking Pikachu’ and it’s terrifying looking anyway.”

“And then people watch it on TV, too,” he added, egging her on. She could feel the bass coming up in his voice, growing raspy from being tired. It vibrated against her skin. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart speed up at the feeling.

“Yeah, what’s the point of watching a parade on TV? Fucking stupid.”

He chuckled and his breath danced across her chest just above the hem of her tank top. It’s how everything usually went during a late night talk. She would end up talking at him as he fell asleep. His responses would become less and less as he began to fall asleep. What she noticed was that he would start tracing invisible little patterns on her stomach as he dozed off. Swirls and circles and stars. The pad of his forefinger would just lightly drift over her skin. Just the bit that peeked out between her shirt and underwear.

It wasn’t anything suggestive. No tickling. No seduction. There was no thought put into it. In fact, she was fairly certain that if she brought it up to him he would have no idea what she was talking about. So she kept it to herself. A little thing to get her through the last hour of her shift before a day off. A little thing to remind herself of when she felt her heart constricting as she thought about turning around while driving over. A little thing to smile about in the middle of the classes she was taking over the summer. 

The silence was amazing. No cars zooming by in the middle of the night. No neighbors yelling at each other early in the morning. No police sirens off in the distance almost ever. Just quiet. It was peaceful and a nice change of pace from everything else in her life. All in all, it was a reprieve. Like an oasis in the middle of the fucking Sahara. The desert that kept pulling her back in for another twelve hour shift that she couldn’t turn down. Sand that just sucked her into more debt with every community college credit. Sun baking down on her, constantly reminding her that there was a nephew she longed to finally connect with. But she got home and none of that seemed to weigh on her as much.

Though, she would always correct “home” to “Paul’s” in her head.

“Emma?” The tracing had stopped and his arm draped over her stomach instead. His hand tucked itself right beneath her shoulder blade, and he pulled himself to be flush against her side. 

“Yep?”

“Can I tell you something?”

She swallowed hard. The big l-word was something she had been dreading. She had never said it in a relationship and was certain she never would. The thought of it made her want to run straight for the door in her underwear and tank top with no bra. “Sure thing,” her voice grew higher in pitch, so she cleared her throat a little in hope that would do the trick.

“I l--”

“Paul, I…” she started. Her guts felt like they were twisting up inside. She was happy, so why couldn’t she just admit it? Why couldn’t she just say three dumb little words? A therapist might say it was because she didn’t feel loved as a child or that she didn’t deserve love after what happened to her sister. Frankly, though, she thought that was all some psychological bullshit. “I can’t.”

That was it. She was sure of it. He would turn away. She would collect her things in the morning, say goodbye to Janis, and be on her way. The cycle would continue as always. Walls sometimes get built so high the person who built them in the first place can’t even get out when they’d like to. Not that she had even tried to climb out. It was comfortable in her mental fortress. Maybe that’s why she and Hidgens got along so well.

To her surprise, he didn’t move away from her. Just stayed pulled close to her. His thumb ran gently along the side of her ribcage. “Is it me?” he wondered, keeping his voice low. The movement along her ribs stopped and she felt his breath grow shallow. Anxious. His heart was racing against her other side.

“No, it’s not… it’s not  _ you _ . I just… I can’t,” she sighed, knowing full well she didn’t make any sense. She never did when it came to anything dealing with emotions. It was easier to just bury them down. Easier to just take her lumps and get grounded for her bad grades. Easier to just let her sister be the good one. Easier to just run away.

He hummed in response, his hand moving from under her back to laying flat on her stomach. His thumb tapped against her as if he were trying to think of the name of an actor in a movie that he knew from somewhere but he wasn’t sure where. He did that for a long time. The silence in that moment felt like it was going to swallow her up along with the pitch black that had cloaked them that cloudy evening. “I would own a bird for you,” he finally landed on.

“That’s…  _ nice _ I guess?” she responded, thoroughly confused.

“Well, I  _ hate _ birds, but if you wanted a bird, I’d get a bird.”

The notion didn’t hit her right away. She was sure that he lost his mind at first because it made no sense at all. There was no reason for him to want a bird just because she wanted one. She didn’t want a bird. They were noisy and smelly and their feed left a terrible mess all over the floor. And some of them even talked, which she could not get behind.

Then the sentiment settled into her brain, and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She cursed at herself internally. She was a thirty-two year old woman, god dammit. She was not allowed to cry over this. “I… um…” She thought to herself about what she could say to return the feeling because she was pretty sure this was as close to feeling it as she ever had. “I’d keep working at Beanies if it meant I could see your stupid, bug-eyed face on the regular.”

The smile on his face could have leaked through her shirt it was so big. “Wow, that’s commitment,” he joked, chuckling to himself over his own joke.

“Don’t push it,” she murmured, patting his hand. As she went to lay her hand back down next to her, he grabbed it and held on, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. This was the most affectionate he really ever got, right before bed. Very snuggly and sappy. She had a hunch that he might be a mushy drunk, too. There was no proof yet, though. Thinking about his sappy sleepy demeanor, it was her turn to grin. “Would you go see a musical for me?”

He stopped rubbing her knuckled and let out a deep sigh that turned into a grunt. “Don’t push it,” he grumbled, and she laughed a deep belly laugh that made her forget about the tears in her eyes moments before. Just the thought of him squirming through Tomorrow from Annie felt so silly to her. “Yeah, I guess,” he conceded. “But only if we could make out after.”

“Oh  _ so hard _ , but only if I get to play the soundtrack to whatever show it is in the background.”

“You’re killing me.”

“But you’d do it?”

He continued grumbling to himself before muttering out a barely audible, “Yes.”

“That’s commitment, Paul. I’m impressed.”

“I’m all in, baby,” he yawned, the clear indication that he was about to fall asleep on her. She continued running her fingers through his hair, which was much smoother without product in it. Very soft actually. That bastard ass.

It wasn’t long before she heard him lightly snoring against her skin. She smiled in the darkness and let a few tears roll out of her eyes and onto her pillow. They’d be dry by the morning and her street cred as a bad bitch wouldn’t be ruined, but she wondered what her sister would have thought about the life she was cultivating. Going back to college. Working her ass off to make sure her life was going the way she wanted. Finding herself in a steady relationship. She wasn’t sure which one her sister would be most shocked about. Probably the jobs, considering they had been the same ones for almost three years at that point. She hoped her sister could see her. She hoped she would be proud.

Another note she would never tell another soul: the sleepy “baby” gave her goosebumps.

Although, she might tell Janis. She was pretty sure her feline friend could keep a secret.


	7. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma really likes Halloween. Paul encounters the mothman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's the work week and I'm back on the 9-5 grind, so this will be an evening thing for me right now.
> 
> I'm so glad everyone is enjoying. I know I am!

The leaves had all turned from green to various vivid shades of red and yellow. It was Paul’s favorite time of year in Hatchetfield. The weather was just warm enough that it wasn’t unbearable to walk around outside, but it was cool enough to start bundling up in sweaters and savoring hot coffee. He loved to sit out on his front porch on early fall mornings, drink a cup of coffee, and take in the beautiful view: a quiet street, lined with trees gilded with scarlet and gold. The coffee would be warm and fill his belly with a good feeling that would last the entire day. The quiet would help him reset before he was ready to enter the world for another day.

Emma told him he acted like a character in a Hallmark movie, and not in a good way.

She tried to sit out with him one morning, but it didn’t hit her the same way. The air was cold and damp and smelled like mold, which was exactly what was growing underneath the leaves in his front yard. She stood there wrapped up in one of his old college sweatshirts, the drawstrings pulled taught to shield her face from the crisp morning air. Then to top it all off, her coffee got cold too quickly. 

So instead, she would just stay in bed while he did his strange cliche morning routine.

The summer had faded quickly, but he still found her walking through his door a lot of nights. “ _ It’s quicker to come here after a late class _ ,” she had explained. It was a fair point. She lived on the opposite side of town from the community college. “ _ Also you do a way better job at laundry than me. _ ” That was true, too. Her clothes had never felt cleaner or smelled better and sometimes took up half of his loads of laundry. Not that it bothered him much. He recycled the same five t-shirts and three pairs of shorts in the summer, and his work clothes went in a separate load anyway.

He liked having her around. It was nice to have someone besides a cat to talk to at night, although she had gotten to see a different aspect of him after spending so much time there. He was a terrible sleeper. He always had been. Falling asleep was never an issue. It never had been. Staying asleep through the night was the problem. Some weeks two AM was the wake up time every single night. Other periods of time he would sleep like a baby and then have to survive on three hours of sleep for days on end. When he was alone, it was easy enough to turn on a light and read a book or play a game on his phone, but having another person there who was actually sleeping made it much more difficult.

After a while, he took to slipping downstairs and sitting at the table to try and turn his mind off. There wasn’t usually anything in particular that would wake him up, but once he was up long enough, the anxiety flipped on. It told him he would sleep through his alarm or that he was grinding his teeth again and they were going to fall out. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he would flip through some book about highly effective people. It was so dry that it usually helped him gain the momentum to fall asleep again.

One night, however, he sat reading about compromising and not taking all the cake for yourself, which seemed silly that they had an entire section of the book that seemed like common sense to him. He had been at it for at least an hour. When he got downstairs, the green clock on the cable box read  _ 1:42 _ and suddenly it was  _ 3:27 _ . Another night going down the tubes. “ _ You should go back to sleep _ .” Her voice startled him, making him physically jump a little bit. He looked at her over his shoulder. It was strange to see her with her hair down. It was rare that she didn’t have it up in some fashion. Yet here she was, hair hanging down in waves a bit past her shoulders. Eyes tired. One of his shirts hanging just enough down her thighs to make it look like a very short dress.

He gave her a close lipped smile. “ _ Well, good news. I’m not human and don’t need sleep _ ,” he replied, watching her yawn. She didn’t get all of her makeup off the night before and there were smudges of mascara clinging to her lower eyelid. The way she was standing almost made her look like a child. Like she had woken up from a bad dream and came to find someone to put her back to bed. The shirt hung on her petite frame like a nightgown. It almost made him laugh, but he thought better of that.

“ _ Great. Just be quiet when you come back to bed, you fucking weirdo. _ ”

It was in the middle of the night that he started noticing the decorations that were mysteriously appearing around his house. The first object was a pumpkin scented candle, an orange beacon in the midst of his monochromatic furniture. Then it was the potted ivy in the window between the dining room and living room. Little things just kept popping up every time he took a second to notice. The house began to feel a little warmer. A little cozier. It sure did smell nice at the very least. Like the fall mornings he loved so much.

When the skeletons started showing up was where he got confused. Little skeleton dolls made of twine seemed to be materializing at random all over the house, particularly when September turned into October. He’d find them in odd places. Tied up in his laptop cord. Sitting on top of his can of shaving cream. Stuck in the handle of his favorite coffee mug. He grew quite the collection in his bedside table drawer, just to have proof it was happening as he made clear to Emma. She vehemently denied having anything to do with any dolls. It left Janis to be the skeleton dropper, which he highly doubted.

Her midterms fell around the middle of October, which meant she was around less. She explained that he and the cat were far too distracting and that she needed to actually work. While she was gone, the skeletons stopped, and he was shocked that he was disappointed. He didn’t particularly care for them being scattered all over the house, but there was something charming in the little hide and seek game. Plus, he was well aware that she was hiding all of the skeletons. He had been pretty curious as to where they were coming from. But instead of asking, he just let the game go on.

One late night as she was cramming, she told him how much she loved Halloween. How it was always her favorite time of the year. Partially because it allowed for all the weird and creepy things to come out and play. The other part of it was she had an excuse to do a (insert costume) but make it  _ sexy _ . “ _ I’ve got hella ass and it’s only fair that I get to share it with the world. _ ” The comment made him laugh and also feel thankful that she wasn’t there to give him a hard time in person because a blush had manifested on his cheeks. He was  _ well aware _ of her  _ hella ass _ .

The invite to her friend’s Halloween party came as a shock to him. He knew she had been talking with a few people in one of her classes after they had been put together for a group project, but he never anticipated her actually inviting him somewhere. He had been pretty willing to let her into his world. There wasn’t too much to hide. She already knew most of the CCRP crew, and Ted didn’t turn her off of him so everything was fine there. She and Janis got along famously. In fact, he was sure the cat liked her more than him some days. And on top of that, she offered to fight his entire family all at once.

He sent a silent message to seventeen year old Paul that the perfect woman does exist, and she has an unlimited supply of ass and twine skeleton dolls.

While he wanted to go to her Halloween party, he had already promised Charlotte he would go with her to the party at Melissa’s house. Charlotte and her husband Sam were on the rocks. Again. She just wanted to get out for the night and Ted was being his typical angsty teenage boy self. Now, Ted he could blow off. Bill, too. Melissa’s feelings seemed to rarely waver, so he had no issue telling her he wanted to go elsewhere, too. But Charlotte. Poor, weepy eyed Charlotte. His conscience couldn’t handle that guilt.

Emma was disappointed, but appreciated his honesty. They made a pact that if the parties were shitty that they would fake a house/apartment fire and escape. Now, he didn’t think this was a good idea. House fires were not only horrifying, but not exactly something you could fake afterward. But she was so amped up about the whole thing he just agreed.

The night came and Melissa’s place was packed with people. He had to assume that she didn’t just invite people from work. “I hope, Mr. Davidson isn’t here,” Charlotte whispered to him, eyes wide. She dressed up like a cat. Like she did every year. Black sweater. Black pants. Cat ears. Eyeliner nose and three neat whiskers on each side of her nose.

“Doubt it,” he replied, trailing behind her to the front door. He reached out one long arm to knock. “Plus, even if he is, we’ve got a couple of pretty decent disguises.” She looked over at him. He was dressed totally normal. Jeans. Sneakers. T-shirt that read: “go ceilings!” Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh as the door swung open.

Melissa greeted them with open arms. She was dressed as a Ghostbuster, full gear and all. Thanks flowed out of her mouth as if she expected them to be no shows. There were tons of people lining the walls of most of the rooms and resting on all the couches. Music was blasting loud and it smelled like bad breath and booze. “Please! Make yourself at home!” Melissa yelled to them over the music as she bopped into the next room. 

For a little while, he and Charlotte stayed off in the corner of the living room. The conversation was stiff and awkward. He didn’t ever know what to say when left in a dialogue with Charlotte. She was very sensitive and very protective of her husband, who was a bonafide asshole. She was also sleeping with Ted, which was something she thought was a well kept secret. But the other side of the affair was Ted who wouldn’t know secrecy if it came and kicked him in the head.

He was also the one who showed up, half drunk already, and stole Charlotte away, leaving Paul to be a wallflower all by himself.

Looking down at his phone, he wondered what Emma was up to. He was hoping her party was going poorly too, so that way they could go deal with their respective house fires. And that meant probably meeting somewhere to eat wings and watch drunk people in Halloween costumes sing bad karaoke. It was much preferable to the B.O. stench that a little while before had begun to fill the already stale air. He was debating just slipping out. No one would know or care, and he could just get into bed.

_ Emma Perkins _

_ Text Message _

He couldn’t hide the grin on his face seeing the text finally pop up, but when he opened it, confusion struck him. The lighting was dark and almost purple, but it looked like the room he was standing in. In fact, the person off in the picture looked an awful lot like him.  _ A ceiling fan? Youre an fuckin newrd. _

Glancing up, a little thing all in black with what looked like wings and two feathers that looked like ears sticking up from her head. She crossed the room, laughing at the look of bewilderment on his face. As she got closer, he realized that her dress was black but short and skin tight. She had on what he thought to be a cape. It went around the entirety of her back and attached to her wrists at either end like bracelets. A pair of round red-tinted lensed glasses, black lipstick, and a heavy smoky eye adorned her face. There were feathers sticking up on either side of her head. That was something he hit the nail on the head with.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” he shouted, trying to make sure she could hear him over the music.

“I’m mothman!” She extended her arms to show her wings and proceeded to do a little twirl, all the while not spilling the drink in her red Solo cup. “But with more ass and more eyeliner!”

“Yeah, I can see that!” he hollered back at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Melissa’s my buddy from biology! What’re you doing here?”

“Melissa works in my office!”

“No shit!” She shoved his shoulder, giggling maniacally. “Well look at that! I was just about to fuckin text you that we should, uh, we should tell ‘em all that we… that our house is on fire!” Clearly she was a little drunk. She downed whatever was left in her cup and leaned in closer to him. “I don’t appreciate… the cop out on this costume… but I’ll let it slide....  _ Beeeecaaaauuussseee _ you’re the cutest fuckin ceiling fan I’ve ever seen.” She poked a single finger into the middle of his chest repeatedly as if to make a point.

Okay, clearly a lotta drunk.

“Uh, thanks.” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh and just let her do what she was doing or try to convince her to get out of there and get some sleep. “I’m glad you didn’t text me, though. You’re pretty drunk.”

“Oh, nah!” she laughed, waving him off. “If I were drunk, you would be blushing  _ way  _ more or crying. Maybe both.  _ I dunno.” _ She grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the foyer, where there was a cooler. Her hands were warm but a little sweaty. They didn’t hold hands very often. She made it clear that it wasn’t something she really cared for. Not much for PDA that one was. Her hand was small in his. She was small in general. He liked the feeling of being curled around her in the middle of the night. Even when he couldn’t sleep. She was a like a tiny puzzle piece that fit perfectly into his life. “Here!” She thrusted a beer into his hands, pulling him from his thoughts. “Have a beer! Live a little, babycakes!”

Once again, her hand found his and she began pulling him around the house. It was easy for her to duck and weave around the people crowding the room, but he was like a clunky, poorly attached piece of cargo that kept banging into everything around him. Melissa’s house was bigger than he thought it would be, but honestly, he wasn’t sure what he expected her house to be like. He didn’t exactly know Melissa that well. Obviously since she and Emma were good enough friends to be making Halloween plans together. 

Through the kitchen, there was a door that led to a back porch. Emma had bounded through it, and he grabbed the doorknob and swung it shut after them. The fresh cool air was a welcome relief to the thick party air inside. She cracked open the beer can in her hand and lifted his hand that was holding his beer as if they were toasting. “Paul, I like you,” she stated matter of factly.

“I know that, Emma, but the reminders  _ are  _ nice.”

“No, Paul, like I  _ like  _ you.” She dropped his hand and leaned forward, poking his nose. 

“I’m really glad because you keep leaving plants in my house and I don’t really want to water them.” But he always did. Even though he never remembered how they got there, he made sure they were watered and cared for daily.

“No, Paul, you don’t get it.” She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders. “Like I am really drunk right now and I like you so much!” That got a laugh out of him, and her red face grew a sideways smirk in response. “I like you so much and you just like make things fucking better because everything sucks but you’re alright.”

“Gotta love the standards there.”

Pursing her lips, she shoved him lightly. “Listen… I didn’t wanna date you, man… I didn’t think that this--” she gestured between them, “--was gonna be.... Anything more than that night at that bar, but  _ oh my god _ you have this stupid fuckin puppy dog face  _ annndddd  _ you’re fuckin funny. Not as funny as me…. But that’s okay. I didn’t… I didn’t  _ really _ wanna date anyone, but then Mustache McDoucheass--”

“Ted.”

“Same thing. You two idiots came in and you brought me my apron back and you washed it.” Her eyes fell to the ground and her face became serious. “That was so nice and you didn’t have to do it but you did it anyway ‘cause you’re so fuckin nice… and  _ oh my god _ I told Melissa  _ all about it! Ohhhhh myyyy gooooooodddd _ ! She knew you the whole fucking time! Shit!” She burst out into laughs again, throwing her beer back to get a few swigs in. When she tilted her head back up to look at him, she pointed at him. “You have…. fucking  _ rocked my woooorrld _ .”

He smiled softly at her, watching her sway along with whatever song was playing inside. “Drunk Emma has a lot of compliments in her, huh?”

“You better believe it, bud! And there’s more… where that came from!”

“Alright, I’ll be sure to find out more about that, but in the meantime--” he went to grab the beer can from her hand, only to find it empty. “Jesus!” He looked at her amused drunken face. “What are you?”

She raised her hands above her head. “FUCKIN MOTHMAN!”

Rolling his eyes, he took his turn to grab her hand. “Okay, well, Mothman I think it’s time to head out and go to moth bed.”

She burst out into a fit of hysterics. “Moth bed!” she shrieked through a bout of laughter as they crossed the threshold back into Melissa’s kitchen, where the woman herself was sitting on her phone, getting a moment of peace. “Hey, Mel! Look! It’s Paul!”

Melissa glanced up from her phone, her cheeks tinged pink from booze as well, and furrowed her brows. “Yes, that is…” her voice trailed off, brows going up. “That’s  _ Paul _ ?! Oh my god, what the--”

“Yeah, hey, we can maybe talk about this later, but Melissa where’s Emma’s car. We can come get it in the morning,” Paul interjected, hoping to scoot out sooner rather than later.

“I didn’t drive here! Melissa picked me up!”

“I picked her up!”

“Hell yeah!”

Paul sighed, vowing to think twice before going to a party with his co-workers ever again. “Great, so I’ll see you on Monday. Thanks for inviting me.  _ Bye _ !” He moved quickly through the house, not only being sober but having much smaller cargo to drag behind him. Once they were through the front door, he let go of her hand, but she grabbed it again with a big grin on her face. His car was parked out on the front lawn next to Charlotte’s, which had since disappeared, so he continued pulling Emma towards it.

For being so drunk, he was impressed with how coordinated she remained. She didn’t trip or fall over once. Very impressive. He made a mental note to tell her that in the morning once the hangover had faded a little bit. He guided her to the passenger side door and opened it for her, but rather than getting into the car, she just stood on the edge of the inside of the door so she could be at eye level with him. “Paul,” she addressed him in a serious tone.

“Yes.” Being out of the party, he was finding mothman to be much more endearing. She was a bit quieter and not nearly as able to yell to other people across rooms.

“I’ve gotta tell you something that you can’t tell sober Emma, okay?” She had her hands on his cheeks, holding his face nose to nose with her own. “Promise?”

“Sure thing.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes as if she were thinking about the words she was going to say. Or maybe she was trying not to throw up. He suddenly felt very nervous in the current position he held. “I’ve done a lotta shitty things and been a shitty person… and it  _ feels bad _ , man. But things don’t feel s’bad with you and  _ that _ feels real fuckin good.”

He felt her losing her balance and lightly placed a hand on her side to help her. “Glad things don’t feel so bad these days.”

“I’m srry I can’t say that I love you.”

“Oh, um, Emma, you don’t--”

“I do! I to hafta!” she interjected, shaking his face every so slightly in her hands. “It’s just… stuff is so hard and I dunno how to have feelings ‘cause I’ve been a stone cold bitch for s’long I dunno how t’do anything else.” He opened his mouth to respond to her, but she continued on, “But I promise I’ll get there ‘cause I feel it. I  _ really, reeeeaaaallllllly, reeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaallllllyyyyy _ do. Just like… patience please?”

He gave her one of his close lipped smiles. A comforting one. One that usually said things are going to be okay. That said this is fine. That it’s okay. “Can I tell drunk Emma something she shouldn’t tell sober Emma because I’m pretty sure she may kill me?”

“No, but you can tell mothman.”

“Alright, mothman,” he chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose. “Well, don’t tell sober Emma that I love her, okay? That’ll be our secret.” With that, he helped her lower herself into the passenger seat and waited there to make sure she actually buckled her seat belt. She rolled her neck to look up and him leaning over her. “Don’t tell her, though. I… uh, don’t wanna screw things up because she’s great.”

“Fuck, man. I already fuckin know. You don’t have to say anything. I already know.” She reached out and patted his stomach. Her fingers curled around the fabric and began pulling him down as her voice went into a low growl, “Oh man, when we get home, I’m gonna--”

He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss, throwing her off guard before backing away and slamming her door shut. Running a hand through his hair as he walked around the front of his car, he tried to unfluster himself. There was a lot to unpack from drunk Emma/mothman. Likely she would remember little to none of it in the morning, which momentarily upset him, but it was in there. He just had to find a way to break down her walls without alcohol.

His door shut behind him with a thud and he looked over at her to find her staring right back at him. “When we get home, we’re going to get you some water and a bucket and go to bed.”

“Pfft. You’re no fun!”

He wouldn’t tell mothman that he liked the fact that she referred to going back to his house as going home. Mothman definitely would tell sober Emma that little tidbit, so it was going into the vault for the time being.

“You didn’t know? That’s my middle name. Paul No Fun Matthews.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“I know. It’s a family name.”

“Yeah, no shit. Your family was like the least fuckin fun  _ ever _ , but I can’t wait to fight your dad. It’s gonna be so good and I’m gonna make your brother cry.” She continued babbling about all the people she was going to fight for him that she likely would fight given the chance the entire way back to the house. It was nice to have someone in his corner.

But it was especially nice that  _ she  _ was in the one in his corner.


	8. Can You Hear Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is a fiercely independent scorpio who talks to the sky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some sad feels in here, guys, but it'll be okay I promise.

It was closing in on December.

Closing in on the third anniversary.

Closing in around her.

The only reason Emma even came back was because Jane died. She had received so many invitations and emails looking for her to come to something. Anything. Birthdays. Weddings. Anniversaries. Graduations. She got every single one and always said she’d make it to the next one. To be honest, though, she never really knew when the next one would be. Never maybe. Returning to Hatchetfield wasn’t a part of the loosely constructed plan.

Tom had called her with the news. She and her brother-in-law never got along. It started in grade school. He was a block-headed stubborn asshole. She was also a block-headed stubborn asshole. The two didn’t mix. It was like having two brick walls shout at each other incessantly. When Becky Barnes went away to college, that was when Tom made a move on Jane, which Emma resented immensely.

Then, after being in Guatemala for only a year, she got the card asking her to be the maid of honor in the wedding.

She didn’t go.

When Tom called, she hadn’t seen her sister in at least a decade. Not that she didn’t want to. Jane was the only person she actually considered coming back to Hatchetfield for. Their parents never had much nice to say about her because Jane was the golden child. Good grades. Athletic talent. Musical talent. Kind. Polite. Civil. Not always on the verge of wanting to fight someone. Emma could feel the disdain they felt for her when they looked at her. She constantly was asking herself why she couldn’t get her shit together like Jane.

Oddly enough, Jane was the only person who even tried to get Emma to stay. Begged her even. “ _ Emma, come on. You don’t want to do that, _ ” she told her younger sister wringing her hands in her lap. Jane sat on Emma’s bed while the younger of the two darted around the room, grabbing clothes and haphazardly into bags. “ _ Em. _ ”

Emma stopped what she was doing to stare at her sister, choosing to go dead behind the eyes at that moment. Jane’s eyes were legitimately filled with sadness, almost on the brink of tears. That year, they both had been away at college. Jane finished her sophomore year with incredible marks. Emma barely finished her first semester before deciding it wasn’t for her. “ _ You know what I want now? Huh? Like you knew I wanted to go to college? I’m not… something you’re fucking studying, Jane. You don’t know shit about me. _ ” The march around her room continued. She grabbed hair brushes and CDs and some pictures off of her dresser.

“ _ Em, please. You can’t-- _ ”

Throwing the bottle of perfume in her hand on the ground, glass sprayed all over the floor. “ _ They’re kicking me out, Jane. Did you know that? _ ” Words couldn’t leave Jane’s lips. She just sat there with her mouth slightly agape. “ _ They hate me because I’m not you. Did you know  _ that _? Hmm? I have nothing left here. There’s no fucking reason me for to stay in this god for-fucking-saken town, so I’m getting my shit and getting the hell out of dodge.” _

Jane stared down at her lap for a moment before nodding and walking towards the door. Without turning around, she stood in the doorway, shoulders shuddering slightly. “ _ Just let me know when you get there safe, okay? _ ”

Emma and Jane had talked a few times over the years. The calls from the states to Guatemala were outrageously expensive, though, so they were few and far between. Jane very gladly gave Emma all the updates on everyone. She even gave a play-by-play of her wedding after she got home from her honeymoon. “ _ Are you happy, Em? I just really… hope you find it. Whatever it is that you’re looking for. _ ”

Now, Jane and their parents all laid forever in Hollow Gardens Cemetery.

After Jane died in the accident, their mother was diagnosed with stage four liver cancer. They gave her a year to live. She made it three months. Shortly past the day of their mother’s funeral, their father had a heart attack in his sleep. It took them three days to come to the realization that no one had seen him in days.

Emma met her seven year-old nephew at her sister’s funeral, where she was ostracized by everyone except for him. Tim took to his aunt pretty quickly. She chocked it up to the fact that she was a gigantic child herself. Everyone had to agree with her there. He was the only one willing to sit next to her at the memorial service and even held her hand while they buried his mother. She squeezed his tiny palm when he started sniffling. He latched onto her waist and buried his face in her stomach.

Every year since then, she visited Jane. Just Jane, though. Their parents hadn’t tried even once to contact her in all the years she was gone. Like they were more than happy to just pretend Jane was an only child. An easy breezy only child. She would get two hot chocolates--Jane’s favorite--from Beanies before doing a quick costume change into jeans and then leaving for the day.

Wrapped up in her scarf and coat, she motored down the sidewalk. November was when it started to get cold. Sometimes snow would start to fall at the end of the month and not stop until they marched straight into April. But the sky was just overcast during her third trip into the cemetery. The wind nipped at her face, prompting her to snuggle into her scarf. The hot chocolates warmed her hands, which she was thankful for. The trees were bare and branches scratched up against each other, cracking and scraping.

Everything seemed surreal when she walked into the graveyard. Almost like time stood still there. It never seemed to change, despite the fact that a year had gone by. People had to have died, but everything seemed to remain stagnant. So many stones. Some new and shiny. Others old, greening, and forgotten. She kept her eyes on the ground as she powered through to her big sister.

The grey headstone glared up at her as the drinks trembled in her hands.

_ Beloved mother, wife, sister, daughter, and friend _

_ Jane Perkins Houston _

_ 1985-2015 _

_ Her life is a beautiful memory, her absence is a silent grief _ .

It didn’t get any easier as the years passed.

She lowered herself to the ground, hip cracking in the process. “Hear that, Jane?” she chuckled, evening herself out on the ground. “I’m getting fuckin old as shit.” The smile lingered for a moment as she stared at the headstone. She sighed and looked down into her lap. “You always told me I would even when I told you I wouldn’t. Like I was going to go out like some kind of… I don’t know… rockstar or some shit. You  _ always _ told me that we were going to be old ladies sitting in the nursing home our kids dumped us in. You’d be knitting and I’d be yelling at nurses.” The light laugh returned, but it sounded more forlorn than before. Nostalgic even. Like she was in another place and time. “You thought that was so funny, but I don’t know what was worse about it. Being an old lady in a nursing home or having kids, which I still don’t want  _ by the way _ . Still haven’t ‘changed my mind’.”

She placed one of the hot chocolates on the stone and took a sip of the one that stayed in her hand. “Oh yeah.” Her other hand dug into the front pocket of her jeans. In her hand was a tiny twine skeleton. “Esqueletitos. Remember? Mom made them with us when we were kids and we would hide them all over the house from each other. Like the most fucked up egg hunt. We were literally digging up fucking skeletons in our house. As like seven year olds. Questionable parenting choices honestly.”

Laying the skeleton down next to the hot chocolate, she let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, but I guess I’m not here to give you an esqueletito. Gotta give you the update.” She smiled sadly to herself, thinking about all the update emails and messages she got from her sister over the years. They were like little Hatchetfield newsletters. Things of note were rare, but she sent them periodically anyway. “So I’m still working at Beanies and Floresmith. Two shitty paying jobs to make it through my shitty classes and pay the rent for my shitty apartment. God, Jane, you’d  _ hate _ my apartment. It’s fucking  _ gross _ . You’d want to hold an intervention for me. That’s how bad it is.

“You’d be happy about school, though, because, not to brag, but I’m fuckin killing it. I only got one C so far and everything else is above. I mean, I’m only part time because I can’t make full time work with… work, so it’s going by really slow, but it’s going. I decided that I’m going to focus on botany. I have this kook of a biology professor that lives in a panic room on the edge of town. He loves me because I brought him groceries once, and he’s… not terrible. He’s pretty okay actually. I mean, he seems to actually give a shit about me, which is awesome. Can you even imagine, though?  _ A teacher? _ Liking  _ me _ ? Yeah, it’s a mystery to me too.”

Another smirk came over her face as if her sister was there with her and made a wise crack question. “And, yes, I know you would want to know: there is a guy.” She wrapped both hands around the cardboard cup from Beanies and brought the lip up to her mouth to take another sip of cocoa. “He’s alright. He’s… really good. You’d like him, Jane. He’s just so…  _ normal _ .” Jane constantly bugged her to see if she was starting to settle down, even if it was in Guatemala. Always warning her to do it before she was alone and regretted it. “And it’s not just because I was alone. I’m  _ fine _ with being alone. I’m good alone.”

Which was true. She did do alright being on her own. There was nothing that she really needed or wanted from anyone. She put herself in the position she was in, so she was on her own to dig herself out of it. That had been her way her entire life. She didn’t want help. If she needed to do something, she wanted it to be her figuring it out.  _ Fiercely independent _ was how her seventh grade English teacher had described her. 

“But I like being with him. He’s tall and he’s a total  _ fucking nerd _ , but that’s okay. He…” her voice trailed off into laughs. “Jane, he came into the coffee shop everyday and would tip me, like, ten bucks sometimes. For that shitty fucking coffee and that shitty fucking service. Sometimes we spit in that coffee because we don’t give a shit, and this guy came in every fucking day.” Another glug of hot chocolate. “Jane, really though. He’s so nice and he puts up with my bullshit, which is a shocker in and of itself. And he’s an aquarius I guess? I looked it up, so I could tell you that. I know you liked that shit.”

She remembered constantly being told she was “such an scorpio” as a teenager, which meant nothing to her but allegedly explained why she was so fighty and stubborn. In her mind, the reasoning for that was being the younger, less impressive sister. What is yin without yang? If one sister had it all together, had everything planned out, the rules of life stated that the other had to be a complete disaster, and she didn’t make the rules. She just followed them… sometimes.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out, taking a brief intermission from the conversation with her dead sister.  _ Some Nerdass 4 New Messages _ . Two pictures. The first was a brown take out bag. The second was of Janis, rolled over onto her back like she wanted a belly rub. Below the first picture read:  _ Brought some dinner to Beanies for before class but they said you ran out in a hurry. It’ll be in the fridge for when you come over. Just Chinese. Nothing exciting.  _ The second message was attached to the picture of the cat.  _ I think Janis likes you more than me. _

“Did I mention he’s a cat person? You would have fucking hated that, but I swear it makes sense,” she explained to the air, looking from her phone back to the headstone. Her eyes drifted back to her phone. She shook her head and laughed to herself. “J, I think I’m happy. Like really happy.”

It was true. For so long, she was trying to live up to other people’s expectations of her. She was stunted to most people. In a state of arrested development. Like she was stuck in a teenager’s state of mind. She worked two minimum wage jobs at thirty two, almost thirty three, and was just getting to making her way through college. Most people turned their noses down at that. Their parents. Every kid who came through Beanies that she had seen in classes. Anyone she ever told.

The second she stopped living to impress them was the moment she realized that what they thought didn’t make any difference. She needed to do it for herself, not for some asshole who she didn’t even know. Things became easier to manage and muscle through once she stopped caring. Although she did care a little about one opinion. It became her goal to do whatever it took to make Jane proud. Jane wouldn’t have judged her; she would have been thrilled.

He never asked her why she was doing it. Why she was working two jobs. Didn’t offer to pay her way through things. He paid for dinner more often than not, but she would allow that. Her sodium intake was so high with all the ramen noodles that it was a wonder her blood pressure wasn’t through the roof. “Yeah, J, you would have loved him,” she whispered, tears leaking to the edges of her eyes. “Fucking  _ god _ , I wish you could see me now. You’d give me such  _ shit _ .”

The wind picked up again, bringing a few rain drops with it. “Shit,” she muttered, clambering to scoop up the second cup of hot chocolate. “Listen, Jane, I’ve gotta go, but… um… I miss you. Wish you were here to give me shit. I’m sorry how things went down, but I promise I’m gonna be better.” Pulling her coat tight around her, she rose to her feet. Eyes darted up to the cloudy sky. “I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know how this thing works, but I love you, Jane.” She darted down the walkway and out of the cemetery back in the direction of Beanies. When a trash can appeared at the side of the sidewalk as she came down the main drag of town, she tossed both her empty cup and the full one in before she pulled out her phone again, tapping into Paul’s message thread.

_ could you pick me up at beanies? i wanna talk about something. _

_ Sure give me ten minutes. Everything okay? _

_ yeah just something i’ve been putting off. see you soon. _

Vague? Maybe, but she knew he had to be aware that she wouldn’t dance around a topic to spare his feelings. Subtly was not her strong suit. She just figured it was about time they sat down and talked about Jane.


	9. Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is a lightweight. Emma implies that she may or may not be a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on my nonsense, but this time it's Christmas-Themed!

Emma slapped two shot glasses down on the table.

“Emma, I really don’t drink like this.”

She rolled her eyes and poured a generous amount of Tito’s into both glasses. “C’mon, Paul. You won’t let me go to that party and fight your family. The least you can do is a couple damn shots with me,” she whined, spinning the orange lid to the bottle back on and placing it on the table.

That was true. He did tell his parents no. It was an annual Hanukkah/Christmas party they had every year for as long as he could remember. His mother’s family came over to America from Norway, only entering the country as refugees in the 1940s when Germany invaded their native Poland. His father’s family had been in the great U S of A for so many generations he was convinced they must have been related to someone on the Mayflower or descendants of the lost colony of Roanoke.  _ That  _ deeply rooted. So the holiday party catered to both sides of the family: dreidel for the Besser family and secret Santa for the Matthews family. 

It was a part of his upbringing that never seemed relevant to bring up in literally any conversation, yet she decided to hang onto it. “I can’t believe we could have been celebrating Hanukkah this whole time and getting  _ eight _ presents. This is a dealbreaker, Paul. I guess the only way to make this work is to  _ take the fucking shot _ .”

“I don’t really  _ want _ to take a shot, Emma. I just want to enjoy my Friday night with you and not feel like my insides are burning because that’s what happens.  _ And then _ it’s just heartburn forever,” he babbled, waving his hands around emphatically. “And I don’t have any Tums or Pepto, so it’d just be miserable for the both of us.  _ And I just want to have a good night _ .”

Her eyes rolled so hard he thought they might roll out of her head. “ _ Fine _ ,” she groaned, snatching up the shot glass in front of him, downing her own, and stomping into the kitchen. He watched her move around in the kitchen, opening up cabinets and the fridge. She had to stand on her toes to reach into the freezer to get ice, and despite himself, he grinned at the act. Her eyes caught his and she glared. “What’re you laughing at?”

“The fact that you’re  _ so _ short that you can’t even reach into the fridge.”

She bounced higher up on her toes so she could stick her middle finger up at him through the window. “ _ Fuck _ you and your  _ goddamn  _ genetics,” she shouted before getting back to her task. He leaned back in his chair and continued to watch her bop around. She was like a little gerbil. Always rushing around. Always having to find something to do. Not usually anything productive. In fact, 98% of the time she left a tornado of a mess in her wake from stupid things. Like when she decided he was going to get a real tree for Christmas and they were going to decorate it together. His living room was covered in pine needles and glitter for a couple of weeks after the whole debacle.

He had to say that they did put together a damn fine tree in the end, though.

“Okay,” she panted, knocking the fridge closed with her hip. For a moment, she went out of sight as she bent over. When she snapped back up, Christmas music was playing. To be specific Jingle Bell Rock was playing just loudly enough to fill the room but not be overwhelming. She bounded out of the kitchen with a glass full of red liquid in one hand and a bottle of ginger ale and grenadine in the other. “Alright, here.” She thrusted the glass into his hand. “ _ This  _ is a dirty Shirley.”

With narrowed eyes, he looked from the drink to her and then back to the drink. “A dirty what?”

“Paul, it’s a Shirley Temple with vodka. If you can taste all the damn vodka I put into it, you don’t have to drink it, but I put enough grenadine in there to send you straight into a diabetic coma.”

Tentatively, he took a sip, and she was unfortunately right. It just tasted like a Shirley Temple and not a thing like alcohol, which he was realizing was very dangerous. He took another sip anyway. A much bigger sip than he anticipated.

“Alright! Now we’re in fucking  _ business _ !”

He had never been much of a drinker. Not even in high school or college. His brothers were always throwing parties when their parents were out of town and usually ended up filling their liquor bottles up with water to make it seem like there wasn’t anything missing. It bewildered him how they could get away with things like that until he realized it was because his parents didn’t care. They were very much of the “boys will be boys” mentality, which is why he was so frustrating to them his entire life. They knew how to handle boys like the older brothers, not him. The only thing they did know how to do was try to figuratively beat him down until he was like the others.

Instead, he just went across the country to go to school, and by the time he came back, they had moved out of Hatchetfield and into Eastbridge. He found an apartment to hold him over until he saved enough money for a house, so he never had to go back into that household. He liked to consider it the most passive way to revolt ever taken by anyone ever. It was easier than causing havoc with them. That could end very badly, as he had seen many a time.

Ted had tried for years to get him drinking at the company Christmas parties. Everyone got a little tipsy at those functions, save for Paul and Bill. It felt uncomfortable to get plastered with and/or in front of his co-workers and boss. No one else seemed to have an issue with it, so Paul and Bill normally volunteered as designated drivers, so no one was able to do anything stupid and life-ruining right before Christmas.

Emma talked at him about her finals as he sipped his drink. He loved watching her vent about things. He just  _ loved her _ in general. She had captivated him from the first moment he saw her. He was a logical man. At least he liked to think of himself as one. Love at first sight was not a real thing. There was no way someone could make that much of an emotional leap just based upon their first encounter with a person.

But boy, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since that first time he walked into Beanies and drank a cup of that shitty coffee.

“So Christmas or Hanukkah?”

“That doesn’t seem like a fair question.”

She grabbed his now empty glass and began to fill it again starting with a few healthy glugs of vodka. “What isn’t fair about it? I always wanted to know the answer and this is probably the only time I’ll be able to ask someone about it,” she shared, carefully pouring in ginger ale, effectively making the vodka disappear.

“They’re just different holidays. Hanukkah isn’t even really about the miracle of the oil  _ really _ . The real miracle was that the Maccabees defeated Antiochus and his huge armies when they were just a few… dudes.”

“Uh huh,” she responded, nodding at him to continue as she uncapped the grenadine. “Just a few dudes. Okay.”

“Yeah, and these guys weren’t trained soldiers or anything. They did some straight up guerilla fucking warfare shit.” She handed him his new drink, which he accepted in the midst of his ranting. “Thank you. So these guys go to war with these Greek guys and somehow beat a Greek army as a bunch of fucking farmers. Then they go to rededicate this temple and that’s where the oil comes in and blah blah blah. Gifts. Chocolates. Yadda yadda.” He took a heavy gulp of his drink, feeling the burn of the vodka more in this drink than the last. “ _ But _ the real miracle was that they beat the guys who were like ‘yeah, hey, fuck you! But just because you’re Jewish!’ And it was awesome.”

There was a look of delight on her face as she watched him. “Wow, a history lesson. Does that mean you liked Hanukkah better? Oh my god, did you have like a bat mitzvah.”

“Well, no, and bar mitzvah, but also no. They just brought us to both synagogue and church to keep us well rounded. Temple had better stories and a bunch of weird songs in the back of the book. Like America the Beautiful. Did you know that song has so many verses?”

She leaned forward, grinning, and rested her chin in her palm. “How many verses?

“ _ So  _ many.”

“Ah okay, how’s that drink, champ?”

He looked down to see he was already two thirds of the way through it. “Oh.” Looking back up, he could feel how fuzzy his head had gotten and how warm he was suddenly. “Good I guess.” He took another cautious sip. Aside from the overzealous swig he had taken earlier, it didn’t taste like other mixed drinks he had ever been given. It just tasted like sugar.

“Well you look like a little friggen tomato, so I think we’re going in the right direction.” She spun the lid off of the vodka bottle again. When they had gone to the liquor store to pick up alcohol, she explained that she liked Titos because it had a handle. “ _ For someone with little hands that wants a bigass bottle of booze, handles are a necessity _ .” The clear liquid spilled easily into the small glass in front of her, which in turn slid easily down her throat. She drank it like it was water.

Frankly, he was impressed. A little dizzy, but impressed nonetheless.

She repeated that two more times, before slamming the glass down on the table. “Now, we’re even.”

He sat for a moment, trying to tally up the drinks she had, but thinking about things that actually required his brain to function were suddenly difficult. “Wait,” he mumbled, counting out each shot he had witnessed on his fingers. His eyes went wide. “Did you just feed me  _ four  _ shots in the last half hour.”

She grinned and shrugged innocently. “I dunno,” she replied in a sing-songy tone. “Why don’t you get over here and we’ll see.” She pulled him up and pulled him right up against her, chin resting right on his chest. When he looked down at her, he felt like his head was spinning, but he was pretty sure that was the vodka. However, it just might have been her.

It was only recently that she started letting him in and divulging more about her life. He learned about her sister. Her parents. Her brother-in-law and nephew. Why she ended up back in Hatchetfield. They sat at the table with coffee, and he let her talk until both of their coffees were cold enough that they needed to be reheated. After they were microwaved, he saw her cry for the first time. Although, it really wasn’t crying. Her eyes began watering and she immediately wiped them away, telling him he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone he saw her cry. He wasn’t entirely sure if she was serious about it or not either, so he went ahead and told no one, as he had planned to do anyway.

There she was, though, grinning something wicked up at him, cheeks tinged a blotchy pink. Her hair was down, falling down past her shoulders. It had grown significantly since they had met. She still didn’t wear it down much because she didn’t like to, a fact she frequently made clear. But he did like the occasions where she decided to leave it down. Her eyes were lit up like the lights on the tree, a cliche he couldn’t get around. She talked about them as being “shit brown”, but he thought they looked more like chocolate. Like warm melted chocolate you got in the center of a decadent dessert. The kind that you savored and lingered after it was gone.

She also had a jawline that could cut through diamonds. Angled and fantastic. He ever told her that he was jealous, which she just waved off. It was because she liked how soft he was and didn’t care for being sharp herself.

He was so distracted by her that he didn’t realize they were swaying to the music playing off in the kitchen. Santa Baby. Even when he did notice, he didn’t stop her. It might have been the alcohol. No, it definitely was the alcohol, but he didn’t mind standing there with her, swaying to the music. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. 

Finally returning her smile, he leaned his head back and groaned. When his head tilted back down to look at her, she had the same smile but now with an arched eyebrow. “The hell is your problem?”

“You,” he grumbled. “I don’t even… I don’t  _ know _ ! You have me under some kinda… I don’t know! Spell or something!”

“It’s because I’m a witch. Duh.”

“Oh yeah? Couldn’t have mentioned that up front?”

“Well, no. How would I be able to lure you in enough to sacrifice you, dummy? If you knew the plan this whole time, I’d have nothing to bring back to the coven. It’d be a fucking nightmare.”

He pulled away from her enough to lean down and kiss her full on the lips. So many days he went into Beanies just to throw money in a jar and try to flirt with a barista. It seemed hopeless. Like he would be spending the rest of his days trying to will himself to have the nerve to just ask a girl out. He didn’t even do it, but somehow here he was anyway. She was there with him. She was there  _ for _ him. He had a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. 

Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck and he could feel her smiling against his lips as Santa Baby turned to I’ll Be Home For Christmas. She felt unreal and solid in his arms. Not like a dream at all. She wasn’t a dream either. She was moody and fighty. She was terrible at her retail jobs and she was a goddamn mess. But she was also smart and feisty and beautiful and she was there with him. “Emma?” he murmured against her lips.

“Hmm?”

“I think… um… I’ve been thinking. You… and me? And?”

“T-t-t-today, Junior.”

“Your lease is running out soon.”

“That it is.”

“Are you renewing?”

“Probably. Not yet, though.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Car living isn’t for me anymore, Paul. It’s a bad look. Also I can’t afford a chiropractor, so it’s out of the fucking quesiton.”

“No, I mean… you could always… y’know, stay here.”

She pulled away from him, looking up with furrowed brows. “ _ I’m _ sorry what?” she squeaked, the words coming out a lot higher in pitch than she initially intended them to. “You want me to  _ what? _ ”

He suddenly felt like he was having a head rush and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Letting go of her, he dragged both hands through his hair with his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’m just a lightweight and I’m drunk and have no filter and don’t know what I’m saying please don’t leave.”

Her gaze followed him as he paced into the kitchen, switching off the speaker she left in there for the occasions where she cooked. The only time his kitchen really got used for its intended purpose. “I’m sorry. Please just ignore me. I should probably just--” he turned around to leave the kitchen, only to find her blocking his way. They nearly collided, but by some miracle (Hanukkah! It must’ve been!) he was able to stop on his heels. “ _ Jesus Christ _ .”

“Okay.”

“Okay what? Just ignoring me? Or I’m a lightweight? Or I’m drunk and have no filter? Or you won’t leave.”

“Well I guess some of those, but really just the first thing.”

“Ignoring me?”

“Paul.”

His face went red. “Wait.”

“Better get your shit together soon and figure out the question I was answering, huh?”

“Emma, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not being fucking  _ funny _ , Paul. You’d  _ know _ if I was being funny.”

“ _ Wait _ .”

“Say wait again and I’ll just renew my shitty apartment’s lease.”

“Okay,” he replied, changing up his wording. “Okay.” Both hands ran through his hair again. “Okay.” He went back to the speaker and pressed play again. “Okay.”

“God, I might just change my mind.”

“No, no!” he burst out, both hands up in front of him as if he were telling her to stop. “No don’t! I mean… unless you don’t want to. It’s totally up to you. You don’t have to do anything you--”

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking dweeb.”

She pulled him back down to her, kissing him hard. He could feel her hands trembling like she was nervous or just full of energy in general. She kissed him like she was suffocating and he was the only source of oxygen she had. Fervor and passion. Those were only some of the things she had a surplus of that he always lacked. Where she was enthusiastic, he was mild mannered and mellow. Where he was cool and non confrontational, she was up in someone’s face getting heated.

“Emma,” he broke away from her again. This time he held her face in his hands, trying to get his head to stop spinning so he could get a good look at her. But everything was fuzzy. He felt so warm and full. “I am  _ so _ in love with you.”

“Paul--”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. You don’t even hafta be. I just need you to know. I needed to say it just once, okay? That’s it. Now we can put it under lock and key. No more. Just once I just--” he sloppily kissed her forehead, being aware enough to realize how clumsy he was starting to get. “I just want you to know. You’re my favorite person I’ve ever met. You’re small and mean and smart and fucking  _ hot _ . And I just feel like I won some kinda jackpot or something. I’m just really,  _ really _ in love with you. That’s all. I spend a lotta time not doing a  _ ton _ of shit, and you just do things all the time and it’s just better to do things when you feel like you should.”

“Drunk Paul, this is drunk Emma speaking. Do you copy?”

He squinted at her, wondering where she was going. “Roger that?”

“Drunk Paul, it’s okay to say that. Drunk and sober Emma just aren’t ready yet. Do you copy?”

“Ten-four, good buddy.”

“Over and out.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck again and kissed all over his face, sweet and short and plenty. The beaming smile on his face just wouldn’t leave. His stomach was doing flips and his heart was fluttering. Nothing had ever felt like this before. It was amazing. “What do you think about putting some colors on these walls?”

“I’m open to it.”

“What about laundry? All over the floor.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“We’ll put a pin in it.”


	10. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul doesn't get the Christmas he envisioned because Emma takes him on a hike, but he is in terrible shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun with this, and I'm glad that you all are enjoying too. Can't wait for more holiday themed bits! :D

They stood on the rocky beach on the southern shore of Hatchetfield. The waters were tossing and turning like they were having a bad dream. Wind whipped around them, slapping their faces with invisible blades. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, painting everything in muted oranges and golds, intermingling with the shadows that lingered from the night. The beach was quiet except for the sound of small pebbles grinding together beneath their feet and the waves crashing and foaming on the shore.

“Come on,” Emma urged, hands shoved into the pockets of her oversized coat. It was quarter to seven AM on Christmas morning. They had agreed to spend a lowkey Christmas. Just them. After her brother-in-law avoided her numerous messages and they agreed that Paul’s family wasn’t exactly what they wanted to deal with, staying home and doing a whole lot of nothing seemed to be the best option. “ _ Plus, it’s our first Christmas. Might as well not spend it trying to deal with our fucked up families,” _ she had surmised. 

But here they were, at the beach on Christmas morning while the temperature must have been well below freezing. Just before dawn. Somehow she had to convince him to get up early and do something. Getting up at six AM and driving to the beach at the end of December really wasn’t his ideal way to start Christmas, but she had been so insistent about going. He couldn’t tell her no when it was something she very clearly had already made her mind up about.

“Around here,” she declared as they approached an enormous rock formation. It was tall and jagged and looked like it had been there since the beginning of time. Like it had fallen from the sky long ago and had been left to be shaped by the salt and wind and waves. Like it had seen things. Many things, both good and bad. Blissful and tragic. Like it knew an ancient secret. When the tide pulled out, a narrow path of rock revealed itself--a real life secret. The path wound around the front of the formation and disappeared around the bend. He was shocked when she scooted down the path and around the corner. “Better haul ass before the tide comes back in.”

He hurried clumsily around the corner, not nearly as graceful as she was. In his defense, she was much smaller than he was, and it was much more of an Emma-sized path rather than a Paul-sized one. Rounding the far side of the formation he found her climbing up a makeshift set of stairs that had formed into the inside of the rock. He began to climb just in time as the cold sea water licked the soles of his sneakers. As he trudged up the rocks, he realized they were less like stairs and more like an unkempt trail. The rock was slippery, causing his entire focus to be drawn to staying upright.

Not at all how expected lowkey Christmas.

In his mind, there was going to be coffee in the morning. They would stay in pajamas all day. Maybe in bed all day. They’d make breakfast and dinner together. Or Emma would make it and Paul would do minimal work because he’d ultimately either burn something or accidently add sugar when it should have been salt. At some point, gifts would finally be opened. Nothing big. They both agreed that they didn’t need to spend much on gifts. Little things. Maybe silly. Maybe sentimental. They would open them and laugh and smile and he would kiss her. It would be warm. It would be the best Christmas he ever had.

When he got toward the top of his climb, which had wrapped around in a rough spiral, he found her sitting at the end of a cliff, legs dangling towards the sea. Desperately he tried to make it seem like he was less winded from the miniscule hike he just endured as he approached where she sat from behind. The spot next to her was just enough for him to fit comfortably right up next to her.

She turned to him with a small, close-lipped smile. “Hanging in there, big guy?” she teased. The tip of her nose and apples of her cheeks were splattered with pink from the cold. He could see that now with the sun coming up, everything was shrouded in a gold glow. Light caught her eyes, shining through the irises and bleaching them to a soft caramel color. The light was shining directly on her and for just a moment she looked her age. A little tired. A little worn down. She looked like she had weathered some miles and was continuing to trudge onward.

All he could think about was wanting to see where the miles would take her every day of every year going forward. 

He wouldn’t tell her that, though. Not even drunk Paul.

“What’re you lookin at, Matthews?” she lilted, jutting her chin out at him.

His eyes darted around for a moment, trying to think of something clever to shoot back at her. She was so quick and he wasn’t always able to stay toe-to-toe with her. Most times he wasn’t. “I… um… you?” A small chuckle left her, and she nodded while turning away from him to stare back out at the horizon, biting down on her lower lip. She did that often when she was giving him a hard time. Which was most of the time.

“Y’know,” she sighed, the smile just barely lingering on her face. “I used to come out here a lot. I’d fucking shimmy out through the teacher’s lounge window (they kept it open so they could smoke) in the middle of the day and just run until I got to the beach.” She burrowed her face into her scarf, adjusting her volume accordingly, so he could still hear her. “I found this place after I failed a chemistry exam my sophomore year. It was so  _ stupid _ , and the teachers were assholes who hated me for not being Jane. To be fair, I was a  _ shit _ and only sort of deserved it.

“But I got here and just walked right into the water clothes and all.” She looked over at him. “It was like fucking May or some shit. The water was cold as balls, but I was so angry because I needed to pass that stupid fucking test otherwise I was going to flunk the entire quarter. When I got a big fat F back, it felt easier to just run all the way into the sea. It sounded really poetic at the time, but I almost froze to death on the way home.

“I ended up climbing up here and just sitting here for a while. Everything was cloudy and cold and gross, but it felt good to escape for a little while. I knew I was in for it when I got home, and then Jane would get on her whole fucking pity shit.” Her gaze had drifted back to the sunrise, the sun slowly peeking more and more over the Clivesdale skyline. “It’s a special place, and it’s been a whole fucking decade since I’ve been here. I just… kinda wanted to come out here and see if it held up”

They sat in silence for a while. The sound of waves wrapped around them, the back of the alcove acting as a natural surround sound system. Winds kicked up around, blowing her hair into her face and the tail of his scarf up and around his shoulder. The weather called for snow at some point in the day, but the glorious palette of blue and gold and pink told another story. “Is it as good as you remember it?” he finally piped up, still staring out at the sunrise. He had to admit it was pretty magical.

“Better.” He glanced over at her, and her eyes had fallen down to the water. She looked up at him and shot another close-lipped smile his way. “Y’know, Paul, things are pretty good.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Well, they are. I know they are.” Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she pulled out a small tube that was wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow. “And I know we’re doing gifts and shit later, but I wanted to give you this. It’s kinda stupid but… here.” She placed the small object in his hand and immediately looked away from him.

He exhaled sharply in a silent laugh, untying the green ribbon carefully before peeling the paper back. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he unraveled a five dollar bill and a rolled up cardboard coffee cozy. “A… five bucks and a piece of cardboard?”

“That, my friend--” she tapped at the bill with her index finger “--is the first tip you ever gave me. Same bill and everything.”

“How would you even know that?”

“I shoved that shit into my apron, so I wouldn’t have to share it. Then it got buried in my nightstand at some point after that.” She shrugged. “I’m cleaning stuff out and I found it.”

He turned the cardboard around in his hand, there were words scribbled on the back. They were just a little too worn out to read. “And this?”

“That’s… um,” she faltered. He hadn’t been sure if she was blushing or if it was the cold, but he was almost certain that it was blushing this time. “You came in this time and Nora and  _ Zoo-ey _ were acting like total doucheasses and when I took your order you let me vent about them a little. Then you said ‘ _ hey, want me to kill those guys for you? _ ’ And… I don’t know I thought about that and laughed for like two weeks after. I wasn’t sure if you were serious and a serial killer or just so awkward you didn’t know how to filter yourself. You still came in everyday and never brought it back up, but one day I wrote down my information and was going to give it to you when Dickweed McDoucheStache walked in and started giving you shit. I kept it just in case, though.”

He was coming to the realization that this was Emma getting sentimental without any of the sappy mushy shit. That wasn’t her style. This was direct enough. It got the point across enough in and of itself, but when he took into account the location, he felt his heart racing. It was a quiet demolition of a part of the fortress she kept herself in. It was as vulnerable as she was willing to get. He smiled at her. “Thanks, Emma,” he chimed in after her soliloquy, leaning towards her and kissing the side of her head. “I love it.”

“Yeah, well don’t mention it,” she murmured, but he could see the tiny grin growing on her lips. “Seriously, don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Despite the stone cold bitch exterior she was trying to maintain, she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes trained out on the sunrise. He kissed the top of her head and then leaned his cheek up against it. They stayed there just like that for a while, freezing their asses off but feeling completely content no less. The only movement was her gloved hand finding his and intertwining their fingers together.

“Merry Christmas, Em,” he whispered into her hair, pressing another soft kiss against her head.

It was their first Christmas, and suddenly, he understood why they made all those dumb Hallmark movies.


	11. Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a round of late night dish washing and Paul and Emma feel very differently about the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not so happy, but hey, here we are. This isn't a Hallmark movie, so we gotta add some spice in there. Keep it interesting.

They had lived together for a month before she got frustrated enough to fight.

Paul was relatively easy to get along with. He was always ready to compromise even if it meant compromising his own feelings. At least with her. Other people, he didn’t really care about how they felt if they were disappointed. Like when he told Bill he would not on any circumstances go to see Mama Mia with Alice and him, he didn’t give a shit whether or not Bill was upset. He didn’t want to do it.

But when it drove him nuts that she would leave dishes to “soak” overnight in the sink, he would keep his twitchy urges to clean it up. Or when she forgot about moving the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer and the clothes got left in the machine overnight, he bit his tongue and just ran them through again to get the scent of mildew out of them.

If it had been someone like Ted or even Charlotte, he would have been quick to share his displeasure. Not that he thought Emma had been through any more or less or deserved to get any more or less shit from people than either of them. Ted clearly had some deep seeded issues that he would probably never address, and Charlotte, based upon the way she let her husband treat her, had the self esteem of a piece of toast: none to speak of. 

Emma, though, made him feel like he needed to spare her feelings.

She was tough. Tougher than him, so it didn’t make sense to want to dance around things. If he just told her that something bothered him, she might have given him shit for it but also probably would have respected the fact that he brought it up to her. Because they were just little things. Little ticks that he had. He had lived alone for such a long time. With people at an arm’s length. With just a fucking cat. He never thought about what it would feel like to not want to upset someone.

Not to say that he didn’t love that she was there. Because he did. Things were good. He woke up with her there most days. Usually he would get up before her, save for the few days Nora had her open up the shop. He liked seeing her sprawled across the bed when he came out of the bathroom after showering and getting dressed. He liked when she tumbled in the doorway after work and had many a story about the annoying customers to tell him. He liked when they were just there together. Even in different rooms. Just coexisting.

But he really hated when she left dishes with ketchup on them in the sink under the guise that they could just soak overnight.

That was actually what sparked the fight. It was a bout of terrible sleep for him. He kept having nightmares. About Hatchetfield. About her. About him. About them and everybody. Terrible, horrible things. Apocalyptic. It felt better to just get up in the middle of the night than to stay panicking in the dark, so he dragged himself down to the kitchen.

He stood at the sink in just a pair of sweats. He and Emma had both agreed to go to the gym more with the new year, but only she had seen it through. He remained soft, which she assured him was okay, but was fully supportive when he explained that it wasn’t fine for him. “ _ Then just fucking do it, _ ” she encouraged, playfully smacking his butt as she scooted out of the room. “ _ You can have hella ass too then not that you’re lacking at all _ .”

There was a pan in the sink with what was once crusted eggs floating at the top of some room temperature water. He stood and stared at it for what felt like an hour, stewing over it. What was so difficult about taking a sponge and some soap and just cleaning it? Or just rinsing it out and waiting to wash it in the morning. Something about the spongy egg skimming the surface of the pat water like scum in a pond made him want to vomit.

He looked at the clock.  _ 3:31 _ .

The water turned on. He began scrubbing at the pan.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

His eyes glanced over at her and then back at the clock.  _ 4:08 _ . Then down at his hands. They were pruned, waterlogged. “Doing the dishes,” he mumbled, plopping the sponge in its dish beside the spicket. As he placed the pot in the drying rack, he flicked the faucet off. He turned to her. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen in a tank top and underwear. Evidently, she had rolled out of bed. Likely at the nearly forty minutes of constant running water.

“At three AM?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“ _ So _ … you’re doing the  _ dishes _ ?”

“Yep, didn’t like that they were there.”

“And that’s why you’re up?”

“Yep.”

“Because you were mad that I left them there?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why are you down here in the middle of the night washing dishes?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep.”

“Because you couldn’t sleep?”

He sighed, turning to face her head on. “Did you want another answer? Because that’s the only one I’ve got.” He shrugged and attempted to push past her, but she wouldn’t budge. “What?”

“You could just say that you don’t like when I leave dishes in the sink.”

“I really don’t--”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be doing dishes at almost… four in the fucking morning.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, just beginning to feel tired enough to go back up to bed, but here they were. She had him pinned in the kitchen, blocking him from going anywhere. “What do you want me to say, Emma?” he grunted, tossing his hands in the air, exasperated.

Shaking her head, she looked up at him. She seemed almost as though she was getting just as good of sleep as he had been. “I don’t know,” she admitted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You just get annoyed with things and don’t fucking say anything. It’s really… fucking annoying.”

He closed his eyes, hoping to have a moment of contemplation, but he just felt like he could fall back asleep. “Can we talk about this in the morning?” he grumbled, pressing his thumb and forefinger in the corners of his closed eyes. “I have to be up in a couple hours, and I really--”

“No,” she said with conviction in her voice. Her face still looked tired, like she had tossed and turned all night up until the moment she stepped downstairs. Hair was sticking out of a bun that had come almost completely undone during the night. Circles had lightly begun to form under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well, and he hadn’t noticed until that moment. “We’re gonna talk about it now, Paul.”

Running both his hands over his face, he groaned before looking back down at her. “Do you really want to fight at four AM? Because I really,  _ really _ don’t.”

“You should’ve thought about that before passive aggressively doing dishes in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left them there to begin with,” he snapped back, unable to keep the filter up. The lack of sleep combined with her egging him on was making him antsy. Like when his brothers would gang up on him to the point of him melting down and getting in trouble for something they started. “Do you know how  _ gross _ egg gets sitting in water all night?”

“If you just left it there, I would have taken care of it,” she barked, hands now perching themselves on her hips. The look in her eye was something familiar but foreign to him. Anger. Frustration. A little bit of disdain.  _ God _ , she was looking at him like a Beanies customer.

Something in him wanted a fairytale. He wanted everything to be right and work out fantastically. Like a storybook. They’d be happy and peaceful. They’d laugh and watch movies. He’d read a book at the table and she’d sit on her computer laid out across the couch. He’d wake up to her every morning and be more in love with her every single day.

Yet here they were. Fighting about dishes in the middle of the night. Not exactly the picture he had in his mind.

“I just want things to be  _ good _ , Emma. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Uh… no,” she replied, pinching her face at him. “I don’t know what that even fucking means.”

“It means I’m fucking uptight about my shit, and I don’t want you to have to deal with it,” he scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m uptight because of my shitty childhood, and here we are fighting about it in the middle of the fucking night.” His eyes had gone wide, looking a little manic combined with the exhaustion and the Daffy Duck pajama bottoms. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings because I’m being… nitpicky. Because I don’t care if I make other people disappointed in me… I just don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

She snorted, once again crossing her arms. “I’m not going to fucking break if you tell me to clean up my shit,” she retorted. “What the hell is wrong with you? Fucking crazy.”

“What’s wrong with  _ me? _ Me? I’m sorry. I just like to have my fucking house clean, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I didn’t realize that made me crazy,” he ranted, turning away from her. “That’s pretty rich coming from you. Sometimes you’re just fucking mean. And now you’re picking a fight with me in the middle of the night. Probably just for fun.”

“Then why’d you even ask me to move in here if that’s how you feel? If I’m just a big meanie who just wants little Paulie to be honest about his fucking feelings,” her voice raised in pitch and got nasally, clearly mocking him. “Why would you even want me here?”

His shoulders sagged. Why did he want her there? She did have the tendency to be fighty and a little mean. She was rough and jagged and guarded to a point where it felt impossible to get close to her. She was a nightmare on wheels when it came to cleanliness, and her job at Beanies was hanging on by a thread, leaving a part time cashier gig at a floral shop as her only source of income.

“Because,” he exhaled, trying to get the words together. Trying to get himself together. “Because things are better with you. I like that you’re tough and you fight and you’re a little mean. Sometimes a little too much, but that’s okay. And you’re so smart. Too smart for that coffee shop and too good at making coffee honestly.

“And I’ve just been… I’ve been in love with you since the first day I saw you almost tell a complete stranger he could shove his caramel frap up his ass, and I can’t explain why.” He turned around to face her again, her brows still knit together, eyes trained on him. “I keep having these dreams where everything goes wrong. Like the world is fucking ending and I can’t do anything. And we always end up…” His voice trailed off and he suddenly remembered why he was awake. Chaos smothered Hatchetfield like a thick blanket. The mall was burning down. He looked down at her, bundled up in winter clothing. He smiled reassuringly when she glanced over her shoulder at him. As soon as she looked away, his smile faded. He felt like he had just gotten her and then the rocket flew overhead and he was awake. “I couldn’t do anything to protect either one of us.”  
“I don’t need to be protected, Paul,” she responded, hoping to sound sterner than she did. “I can take care of myself.”

“I… I know you can,” he mumbled. Things felt strange. He hadn’t learned a lot about healthy relationships growing up. He couldn’t remember the last time his parents even sat next to each other, let alone shared a kiss or even a hug. Not even a joke. There were a lot of movies and shows and books. Where the guy always protected his girl and made sure they got through everything in one piece. Together. It made sense to him. He didn’t anticipate that fiction wouldn’t have prepared him for her. “Nobody’s ever stuck around long enough for anything important to happen, and I just don’t want you to go. I  _ constantly _ feel like I’m not enough and I just need to be enough for you. I can’t go and--”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in before stepping toward him. “Well, I just moved all my shit in here, so I’ve gotta stay at least a few months. Can’t afford a U-Haul,” she uttered, reaching up and pulling his head down to her level, so she could kiss his forehead. “I’ll do the dishes the night they end up in the sink, but this shit.” She motioned to the sink, still full of suds. “Has gotta stop. That water was so fucking loud it woke me up.” He smiled sadly and let out a brief chuckle. “And man, you’ve gotta start sleeping. It’s not good for you. You’re going to end up going for real crazy and hallucinating the end of the world or something. So just try to… I don’t know. Not do this, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She released the back of his head and gave him a quick pat on the stomach. “Now, let’s go back to bed, and we’ll get you called out of work.” He opened his mouth to protest. “You’ve been up half the night. Do you think numbers are really going to make sense tomorrow? Come on.”

Sighing again, he trailed behind her, following her up the stairs into the dark hallway. He flicked off the lights as they left the downstairs. By the time he had felt his way down the hall, she had already gotten back into bed and was facing away from him. He lowered himself onto the bed and sat for a moment. At that point last year, he wasn’t sleeping either, but he was alone. He and Janis would sit in bed for hours doing nothing but sitting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at two AM, anxiously awaiting when he could go buy his cup of black coffee.

Laying his head down onto his pillow, he thought about that shitty, shitty coffee. He didn’t go in and buy it anymore. In fact, sometimes he would go and buy Starbucks for the both of them and drop her drink off at Beanies. It was garbage coffee that they served at Beanies, but the taste always sparked good memories.

Her warm body was suddenly pressed against his back and one of her arms wrapped around him from behind. He could feel her nose pressing into the middle of his back. He also could have sworn he felt her lips place the gentlest of kisses on his skin, but he could neither confirm nor deny that. “You’re not crazy by the way,” she whispered, as much of an apology as she was going to give. “Just emotionally constipated, but I get it.”

“Oh, I know,” he muttered, letting his eyes slide shut. “We’ll figure it out, though.”

“We’re going to have to because you sure as shit aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”


	12. Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gets tired of Paul's paint choices or lack thereof. Paul doesn't hate Fleetwood Mac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, friends! Here, have a fluff!

Paul had been perfectly content with the white walls his house came with. He didn’t see any point in changing them. There was no use in trying to figure out color schemes and decorations. Plus, the white paint the house came painted in went fine enough with his mostly black Ikea furniture. 

Once Emma moved in, though, she made such a stink over how every room felt like an insane asylum. Like she should be wrapped up in a straight jacket. Or like she was about to receive the message of a cult leader. “ _ You need more color on the walls _ .” Eventually, he not only gave in but gave her free reign over what colors would go all over the walls. A decision he immediately realized was the correct one when they walked into Home Depot and she got lost in a train of thought, picturing each swatch on walls in different rooms of the house.

It was one of the most domestic things they had ever done together. Bickering like an old married couple when they were trying to decide on brushes or rollers. “ _ What about this one for our room? _ ” She held up a swatch--a blue that was so soft it almost looked grey--and looked up at him over her shoulder. “ _ Blue’s supposed to be calming and shit, right? _ ” He didn’t know the answer to that, but he did know that he liked the fact that it was their room.

They stood at the counter, waiting for the paint choices they made to finish being mixed. Chatting and joking. Watching people walk by. Poking fun at them. Well, it was mostly Emma with quick observations and Paul laughing and sometimes coming back with smart quips in agreement. “ _ Your wife’s got a good color palette here _ ,” the older man behind the counter said to them as he hauled heavy cans of paint up onto the counter. Her face went red with discomfort.

Panicking, Paul said the only thing that could come to his mind. “ _ That’s my sister _ .” It was the man’s turn to twist uncomfortably. It was very obvious that the two were not related, but Paul’s delivery was so deadpan the man couldn’t tell. “ _ Yeah, good old Thelma with her colors. _ ” He was starting to sweat and become less convincing. Grabbing paint cans and throwing them into the cart, he racked his brain for anything more to say to the man. “ _ Okay, thanks. Uh, bye _ .” He raced off as fast as he could with the cans of paint weighing down the cart. She followed in tow, cackling at him all the while.

Between her classes and two jobs, she slowly began making her way through the house with different colors. The kitchen was done first in a soft pastel gold. The color had caused an argument between them. Not because he didn’t like the color, but because she hadn’t put a drop cloth down and left three small splatters of paint on the tile that refused to come up. It was short lived and ended with him going by himself to the more local hardware store to pick up a cloth for her to use.

The living room took significantly longer for her to do. The light, earthy green was welcoming and happened to be his favorite of all the colors she picked, so he was excited when he realized she was using it on the largest space in the house. It seemed to get painted in small sections every other day or so. They finally had a Saturday off together, and he helped her finish the rest of the space. He was not nearly as efficient as she was, trying to perfectly and evenly every inch he touched with paint. At one point, she came up to him and wiped a fingerful of paint onto his cheek. “ _ Listen, Da Vinci, this isn’t the fucking Mona Lisa, so let’s pick up the pace _ .” He looked down at her mildly horrified that she just spread paint onto his face. She grabbed his wrist and began moving the brush in his hand around on the wall. “ _ Come on. Knees to chest, motherfucker. _ ”

Everything came to a brief halt the day she came home with no words. “ _ I, um, just got fucking fired _ .” It had been a long time coming. She wasn’t a very good customer service employee. Her boss had threatened her at least once a week with firing her, but a couple of high school kids came in and were able to cover enough hours to replace her shifts. “ _ I have no idea what I’m going to fucking do. I have school to pay for and I can’t just fucking squat here _ .”

They talked for a long time, sitting at the table in the newly painted living/dining room. Trying to figure out what her plan was going to be. What she would want to do. The conversation ended with her just staying with the floral shop for the time being while she looked for something that was willing to pay her more and was more up to par with her mental capabilities. And with the extra time, she would have more opportunity to spend with schoolwork. “ _ Listen I floated this place by myself for a long time before I met you. It’s fine _ ,” he promised.

Between her classes and the flower shop, she worked at painting the rest of the house, wanting to feel useful since her financial situation was quickly falling into the gutter. He would come home from work and another section of the house would be painted. Both bathrooms. Their room. The small den in the basement. She kept the door to the guest room closed most days, claiming she was trying something in there but she wasn’t sure if it was actually going to work or not.

It was nice to see her enjoying herself. Not working at Beanies lifted a huge weight off of her. Despite not being in a good situation with money, she seemed lighter and happier. She was certainly less tired. She talked more about things that she enjoyed than just complaining about retail stupidity. There were more smiles than grimaces. More laughs. Everything was just content.

On a particularly slow day in mid-April, he chose to take half a vacation day and left work after lunch. He hit the farmer’s market she liked on his way home, picking up peppers and a head of lettuce and other various vegetables. She had been helping to not constantly burn shit by just walking into the kitchen. Teaching was not her strong suit, but he did enjoy listening to her try to explain to him what he should do and then ultimately get frustrated. He wasn’t sure what they could make with all of the items he picked up, but she normally was able to figure something out.

Her car was in the driveway when he got home, but when he entered the house she was nowhere to be found, at least downstairs. Dropping the canvas bag full of food on the counter, he stepped forward into the house. A gentle breeze blew in through the windows that now had curtains on them, helping rid the house of the smell of paint. Wind chimes sounded somewhere in the distance. It sounded like spring.

Upstairs he could hear music softly playing and a quiet voice singing along. He was not fond of musicals, but he did like her lilting little voice. Somewhere inside, he was pretty sure he liked it back when he was forced to watch Brigadoon in high school even if that’s where his hatred stemmed from. Fleetwood Mac was something he could get behind a lot easier, so that particular singing moment was extra okay with him.

The stairs were carpeted and easy to climb quietly, as not to disturb her jam session. She was in the spare bedroom with the door cracked just a bit. He could see the walls painted with the pale mauve she had picked out. They were solidly painted from what he could see, so he poked the door open just a bit and finally saw what she had been spending so much time on.

The far wall was still white, but it was covered from floor to ceiling in line art. Marigolds and poppies and daisies. Delicately drawn on in black paint. Small pops of yellow and green and peach. She stood there, sitting on the third step of the ladder. In front of the wall, she seemed too small to have been creating such large illustrations. The guitar solo for Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain echoed in the room. He took a step in, crinkling the plastic drop cloth she was using on top of the carpet.

When she saw him, she looked mortified. “I… I’m going to paint over this. Don’t worry,” she assured, stepping down from the ladder. She was wearing the same shirt he had worn to paint the living room. It was now paint covered, but he could still read  _ CCRP Softball 2015 _ . The one and only time he participated. “I just had time, and I’ve been doing this between applying for jobs, which had been driving me fucking nuts because there’s nothing.”

“Emma,” he interjected, walking across the room to stand next to her. “This is…”

“A waste of my damn time?”

“ _ Really cool _ ,” he disagreed, eyes scanning over it again and again. “This is awesome.”

Her voice grew much smaller than he was used to, “Really?” It wasn’t often that she was caught off guard or just wasn’t loudly sure of whatever she was saying or doing. He glanced over at her with a grin before looking back at her work.

“You did all this,” he muttered more to himself than her. “You did this and were going to paint over it? Why?”

“It’s a little girly and fucking dumb,” she replied, placing the paintbrush in her hand down on the top of the ladder. “And I don’t know. It’s just… flowers.”

“If you like it, you should keep it here because it’s… it’s really good,” he said again. “I didn’t know you… art- _ ed _ ?”

She finally let out a laugh, hands resting in fists on her hips. “Yeah, well, it was sort of a lost hobby,” she admitted. “I was a serial doodler in the school and took a couple art classes before my parents told me I needed to do something  _ useful _ like Jane. She did some kind of science shit, and they ate it the fuck up. Flowers didn’t really do it for them.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” he said simply, not wanting to pry too much at the relationship she had with her late parents. “Fuck ‘em.”

“That’d be gross, Paul. They’re my parents and they’re  _ dead _ .”

Rolling his eyes, he turned his focus over to her. She was covered in paint. Paint on his shirt. On her leggings. In her hair. On her arms and face. Everywhere. There were going to be paint flakes in the bed that night, and he was sure of it. But he tried not to dwell on it too much and make a note to just wash the sheets the following day. “I didn’t realize you weren’t into that. I guess I’ve been reading things  _ totally _ wrong this whole time. I’ll try to remember to not bring up incestual necrophilia in bed next time.”

“It’s beastiality and necrophilia. God, get it together, Paul.” She scooted closer to him, close enough to give him a quick scratch on his back. “What are you doing home already? You get fired too?”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to start up a mural painting business. This was the easiest way to break it to you.”

“Ha ha,  _ funny _ .”

“I took off after lunch and picked up some stuff from Main Street Market. I have no fucking clue what to do with it all, but I thought you might like that.”

“I knew there was a reason I’ve kept you around this long.”

She pinched his side and waltzed out of the room and down the stairs. He thought about her words. How long had it been? He hadn’t given much of his time to thinking about it. No matter how long it had been, it didn’t ever seem to be correct. He felt like he knew her his whole life. Maybe in another. Most days they were so in sync you’d expect that they’d known each other for years. Yet now that he put his mind to it, he was realizing it had just been over a year. A very long and eventful year. A sometimes wonderful and sometimes difficult year. But just a year no less.

He quietly hoped he would get to see her every day for the next ten.


	13. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's brother gets married and Emma sits down to talk with his grandmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says it's the weekend like fluff and stuff.

Dan’s wedding was in the early summer when things were just beginning to get hot and disgusting. The earth was still damp from the spring rains but was warming up just enough for mosquitos to have a field day. Paul had always liked the idea of outdoor weddings; however, he was thankful to not have to be stuck out in the muggy heat while his face was devoured by bugs.

Despite Emma’s insistence against it, he agreed to be in his brother’s wedding. It felt less like something he really wanted to do and more like something he was obligated to do. That was what brothers were supposed to do. At least that was what they all told him when he waffled over whether or not he was going to do it.

The plan initially was the guys were all going away to Vegas for a long weekend. Paul sat at his laptop for almost an hour tabbing in and out of screens, debating buying a ticket. If he went, he would be miserable. That was an unequivocal truth. He would be stuck across the country in a loud city he had never been to with loud brothers he never hung out with. It would be a nightmare. If he didn’t go, he would inevitably get unending flack from every one of his brothers. All sorts of jokes about him would resurface from their childhood and would refuse to leave for many years to come.

“ _ Just tell them you have a work thing _ .” An excuse he used too many times already, he explained to her. “ _ Okay, then… I don’t know. Throw me under the fucking bus. Say you have to drive me to get my wisdom teeth out or some shit _ .” He was aware that she had her wisdom teeth out as a kid. She often remarked about how she had seven wisdom teeth, which was why she was such a wise ass. “ _ Yeah, say I have no one else to take me or take care of me. They won’t give me shit _ .” But they absolutely would. “ _ Okay well, I’ll just… verbally fucking assault them. It’ll be fine. _ ”

At the end of it all, he ended up taking her advice, claiming her wisdom teeth removal was the weekend they had planned for. They pushed back at first. Talking about how pussywhipped he was. About how she could figure it out herself. About a lot of things that made him clench his jaw angrily. But when all was said and done, he didn’t go and the guys weren’t too upset about it, calling him a bitch at parties anyway.

That particular weekend was spent almost blissfully. They went out for dinner because she finally was able to get into another job that she was going to actually be able to use her brain for. She was finally rounding out what would be her junior year of college and, upon recommendation of the elusive Professor Hidgens, was able to land a job in a neighboring town with Pinebluff Ecological Improvement and Preservation. “ _ But they just call it PEIP. _ ” The job was something that would engage her more and allow her to apply ideas she was studying to real life until her pot farm venture actually panned out.

The dinner was nice, just for the occasion. They dressed up. Well, she did at least. The suit he had worn for work that Friday translated just fine to dinner. He was pretty certain he’d never seen her in a dress. She wouldn’t let him see the dress she was wearing to his brother’s wedding because she was “ _ going to look so fucking hot _ ” and that was the only other dress that came to mind when he thought about it. So when she came out in a little red number, his head spun a little bit. Normally, it was nothing but casual with her. Jeans and a sweater at the most. But this dress hung on her in all the right ways. Just enough for him to feel like he was turning the same color as the dress.

She hadn’t been able to go to the rehearsal dinner. Mostly because she didn’t want to, as she honestly stated straight to his face, but also because they couldn’t get Alice to run over and take care of Janis until the day of the wedding, so she only made it to the hotel well after the dinner had ended. “ _ Hibachi? Fun… you get any shrimp tossed into your mouth _ ?” she joked as she chowed down on the leftovers he brought back to the hotel with him. He hung up the bag her dress was in next to his tux, a bit of gold hem peeking out at the open bottom. She pointed her chopsticks at him accusingly when she caught him looking. “ _ Hey, leave it! I’m following your sister-in-law’s stupid fucking dresscode and that’s all you need to know for now, you nosy shit. _ ”

To avoid further scoldings, he left the dress at that before returning to the bed to flop down next to her. A Forensic Files rerun was running on the channel the TV awoke to, and he had just left it. She pushed each snow pea towards his mouth with her chopsticks, which he willingly ate, eyes not leaving the screen. “ _ This is our first weekend away together _ ,” he noted, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She only shrugged. “ _ Nah, we’re doing the same shit as usual except tomorrow we have to deal with your shit family while wearing nice clothes. This doesn’t count. _ ” Shoving noodles around the styrofoam container, she picked out another snow pea and gently dropped it into his mouth. “ _ Plus this hotel smells like old lady perfume. Not exactly setting the mood _ .”

The wedding itself went about as smoothly as it could. The groomsmen were a bunch of overgrown school boys who couldn’t help but take a few shots of tequila before the ceremony. Oddly enough, Jack stood at the sidelines with Paul rather than taking part. “ _ I don’t know, man. I had kids, and I just don’t get that whole thing anymore. Marnie likes her moscato most nights, but I’ve started drinking just black coffee and seltzer. _ ” Paul raised his eyebrows and smirked at his brother, who was softer away from the others. Jack had always been a little kinder. A little more willing to not be a dick. “ _ Wipe that look off your fucking face, Paul. You’ll get it some day when you have two foot tall children running around swearing _ .” The grin faded while the eyebrows seemed to move further towards his hairline.

He thought about that during the entire ceremony. It drowned out anything his brothers said to him and laughed about after. All the noise in the venue, echoing off every wall wasn’t the sound of chatter but of Jack’s monologue. The entirety of the ceremony, which was scripted all the way up until I do. The photographer asking them all to look one way, smile another, pose like this, stand like that. The whole chunk of the day felt like a blur, his brother playing on repeat in his mind.

He didn’t want kids. He never had, so why was he imagining a brood of both half pints and giants running around their small house?

The crowd was a sea of royal blue and gold, the color scheme for the wedding. It was what Lillian had wanted. Everyone to dress black tie, but in blue and gold, as the bridesmaids were in gold and the groomsmen in blue. She wanted the pictures to be worthy of posting to her various social media accounts. And maybe a blog? He couldn’t remember if she was the sister-in-law with the blog or not. Regardless, the dress code made it nearly impossible to find Emma in the sea of people. Not only was she wearing the same color as half the people there, but she was half the size of some of the people there.

During cocktail hour, he weaved his way in and out of people, giving half hearted hellos to family members he hadn’t seen in years. His mind was on one track, though he did grab two mini quiches off of a tray that was passing by. Working his way through the room while holding two hot hors d'oeuvres was more difficult than he anticipated as he tossed the snacks from hand to hand, trying not to get too scalded.

When he found her, his eyes nearly fell out of his head. She was sitting one one of the various luxe couches set out around the large hall, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. First, he noticed that her hair was down and bouncing around her shoulders in soft caramel waves with shots of a champagne color blending through them. Then he realized how tan she had gotten. She had been getting into planting vegetables and herbs out in the backyard, a last hoorah before she started the new job. Long days spent outside and short nights lived inside in his old shitty t-shirts. But the gown had her back exposed until just above her lower back.Was she gardening topless? (a question he had to try and remember to ask her later) The neckline was high, unlike the plunging v-neck of her red dress, and was held at her neck by a delicate gold chain. He wasn’t sure whether it was littered with stones or decorated by sequins or adorned with beads. To be honest, he didn’t really care. She was a shining beacon of light in the midst of what felt to him like a dismal affair.

Then she saw him when she glanced over her shoulder from who she was talking to and winked at him, and he got it. 

She did look fucking hot.

It was at that moment he realized she was sitting with his grandmother. His mother’s mother. One of the most severe people he had ever met in his entire life. It was at her house where he learned if he put his elbows on the table while eating, his forearms would get wacked so hard they would sting for hours. Where he also discovered that music was a waste of time and energy as was television. Where he found out that the tougher you were the more Grandpa would respect you. Yet he could have sworn he saw her laughing at something Emma said.

Cautiously, he approached the two women. He winced as he laid one hand on Emma’s shoulder, assuming his grandmother was going to scold him for interrupting their conversation. “Oh, Paul,” the old woman greeted almost sounding happy. She was pointy and stoic from everything he remembered. And, just as he suspected, her face was still looking impressive for a nearly ninety year old woman, but he was pretty sure that was because she never smiled.

“Hi, Gigi,” he responded, still remaining on edge. He leaned over to gently hug her, only to be surprised by a kiss on both cheeks as he went to pull away.

Both hands on his cheeks, his grandmother looked him right in the eye, studying him. They were the same eyes his mother had. The same eyes he had. Large and curious and just a little crazy. “You’ve grown up quite a bit since I last saw you,” she remarked, allowing him to stand back up. “It’s been a long time.”

“Seven years,” he blurted out, suddenly feeling guilty for having not visited his very elderly grandmother in so many years.

“A long time, yes,” she agreed, taking a sip of the red wine she was holding. It was what she always said kept her alive for so long. A glass of red wine every night. On special occasions, she would have two. She smiled at him, which was alarming. “But you’ve brought a charming young lady with you who has been the only person to sit down with me, so I will consider forgiving you.”

He felt the back of his neck getting hot. “Oh yeah, Gigi, this is Emma. Emma this is--”

Emma snorted at him. “Listen, bud, Agnes and I are already on a first name basis here,” she retorted, reaching behind her and patting his leg. “You’ve gotta get with the times, man.”

“She was able to get Lillian’s awful sister to finally be quiet.”

He furrowed his brow and looked down at his girlfriend who was putting on a suspiciously trying to look innocent smile. “She might be a girl I went to high school with who married a plastic surgeon and was giving me a hard time about me and my life choices. So I may or may not have said some very not nice things to her. And I  _ may _ or  _ may not _ have suggested her old nose made her a lot nicer.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he groaned, “Oh my god, Emma.”

“In my defense, your grandma and I had a pretty good laugh about it.” He just stood there with his mouth open, trying to find words to say. She stood up, coming up to just above his shoulders. Slinky gown  _ and _ heels. “Let me go grab a drink. You want anything, Agnes?”

“No thank you, dear,” his grandmother replied, almost sounding sweet. He couldn’t help but watch as she walked away. Her gym-centric New Years resolution was the only one she really stuck to, and it was paying off. “Paul, sit down.” Snapping out of his Emma trance, he did as he was told and plopped down next to his grandmother, who looked down at his hand, confused. “Are you holding… food?”

He had completely forgotten about the quiches. “Oh yeah, um… Emma really likes quiche, and I wanted to grab her one just in case she hadn’t gotten any yet.” When he said it out loud, it sounded a little ridiculous. There would be more quiches. It wasn’t as though she was going to miss out on them.

“She’s a nice girl. Good head on her shoulders. Very pretty, too.” He was stuck on the nice part. Emma was many things, and while she was usually kind and thoughtful with him, nice was not one of the first words he would have used to describe her. “Strong-willed. You boys needed more of that in your lives. Look at the girls your brothers married. Beautiful but vapid. Controlling, not strong.” She took another sip of wine. “I like her. You’ve done well, Paul.” A small smile grew on her face. “But you’ve always been my favorite grandchild, so I suppose I would be more forgiving about your choices.”  
It must have been the wine talking. He was never anyone’s favorite anything ever, but suddenly he was the most serious woman in the world’s favorite grandchild. “You should keep her around, my boy,” she informed him, patting his hand as she slowly rose to her feet. “I’d like to be around to see your father and her try to make it through a family dinner.” With that, she squeezed his hand and gingerly made her way across the floor, leaving him more confused than when they started talking.

“You never told me your grandma was cool as shit,” Emma said, having come back from the bar with a red drink in the hand that wasn’t holding the lowball glass with what he expected was bourbon. He shifted in his seat to look up at her, one hand reaching out and resting on her hip. “Your grandma is cool as shit, and she escaped the Nazis. What a fucking badass.  _ And _ she liked it when I told Linda that her old nose made her nicer and that her kids look an awful lot like her lawyer and not like her husband.”

“ _ Emma _ .”

“What? She deserved it and _Gigi_ laughed. I’m batting a fucking thousand tonight.”  
He sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He opened them again and just stared up at her in awe. She looked like a goddess. Golden and bronze and gorgeous. “You look nice,” he told her, just summarizing all the various adjectives running through his head. Some family friendly. Some not so much.

The grin on her face verged on evil for a moment. “Wait until you see what’s not under it,” she whispered as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes went wide. “I know Agnes called me a nice girl, but what she doesn’t know isn’t gonna kill her.”

“ _ Jesus Christ, Emma _ .”

“Is that a quiche?” she gasped, changing the subject quickly. She reached down and grabbed the small snack. “Oh my fucking god, you’re the best. I knew you had to be useful for something.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch and groaned. Through her full mouth, she chuckled and patted his chest. “You gonna eat the other one?”

His hand lifted and opened up to her, so she could grab the second quiche, muttering ‘sweet’ under her breath as she stuffed the food into her mouth. He watched her through narrowed eyes, looking like a total goob of a chipmunk with quiche-filled cheeks. A bronzed, fit, hot chipmunk.

He was going to marry that girl. A thought he hadn’t come across with anyone else in his life. It made him smile. “Can’t wait to wipe that smug grin off your face later,” she said in a sing-song tone while another tray of food passed by. She eagerly grabbed two toothpicks off of it. “Pigs in a fucking blanket? This is amazing.”

Laughing to himself, he ran a hand over his now burning red face. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t get too drunk tonight because all this talk…” His fingers ran along the edge of her dress where the material met the bare skin of her back. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Through half a mouthful of food, she patted the top of his head. “You already are crazy. Hate to be the one to break it to you.” She swallowed her food and scanned the surrounding wedding guests before leaning down so close to his ear he could feel her breath on his skin. “But you’ve gotta behave yourself otherwise you’re getting jack shit.”

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , Emma.”


	14. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a trip to Vermont, and Paul has finally learned from Emma's cooking lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some heavy topics in this one. Just a quick CW for abortion and related topics.

True to form, they didn’t count the weekend of the wedding as their first weekend away together even though  _ technically _ it was. Paul had taken the liberty of pointing out that they had been seeing each other for over a year and they did nothing for their anniversary. Emma’s response was to ask him when exactly their anniversary was, to which he had no answer. She shot finger guns at him as he turned away in defeat to continue folding laundry.

They ended up booking a small lakefront cottage for a long weekend. Friday to Monday was going to be spent in Vermont by a lake. By themselves. Far,  _ far _ away from Hatchetfield. A weekend away from everyone and everything that came at the perfect time. He had recently walked into his boss’s office unannounced. It was just to drop off his weekly report before heading out. Rather than the mumbled pleasantries they usually shared on a Friday afternoon, he found himself face-to-face with a very precarious scene involving his boss, his boss’s wife, and what appeared to be a belt. His hand immediately flew over his eyes. “ _ I’ll leave my report on Melissa’s desk, Mr. Davidson. Have a good weekend! Heard it’s supposed to rain. Stay dry out there! _ ”

The four work days that followed were torture for Paul while his boss played the whole thing off as though nothing had ever happened. Paul, however, couldn’t bleach his brain and forget what he had seen.

Timing was also on their side for the break she was going to inevitably need.

He arrived home after her one day, something he was used to. Though after she started the new job, it seemed to alternate. Some days he arrived home to a mostly empty house, Janis purring happily as she rubbed against his legs and music blasted from upstairs followed by the sound of surprisingly heavy footfalls. Other days she would come in to find him splayed out on the couch watching a rerun of the Office with Janis sprawled out across his front, kneading her paws against his neck. It was all pleasantly domestic.

When he came in that night, everything was quiet. He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and found her sitting at the table, hunched over her phone. Janis sat beside her almost as if to be protective. “ _ Hey _ ,” he greeted tentatively. She turned, eyes red. It was unclear whether she had been crying or whether she was just tired. The days preceding she had complained about how she felt generally sick. Nauseous. Light headed. Headachy. The whole shebang. “ _ You okay? _ ”

She shook her head, looking back down at her phone and taking a deep breath in. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something but nothing came out. Shaking her head again, she leaned onto the table and pressed her palms into her eyes. Not even a hint of a snippy comeback. Even when she said she had been feeling crappy, she usually had at least a single one-liner in there, but there was just silence. “ _ Emma? _ ”

Her breathing was heavy, ragged. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t imagine what it was. Work was going well. She was good at it, at least from what he gathered. He wasn’t entirely sure what she did. Just that it had something to do with water conservation for the greater Lockburne County area. Most of what she told him about went over his head, but he liked to hear her get excited about something. Classes were out for the summer, at least for another few weeks. An added stress she was glad to not have to deal with for a few months. She went out with Melissa and maybe some other friends at least once every couple of weeks. Usually more frequently than that. At the end of the night, she would get dropped off and she’d tumble into bed, smelling of vodka and her perfume. He’d pretend to be asleep, so he could listen to her mutter sweet things she wouldn’t normally say without the buffer of alcohol. 

“ _ What happened? Did something _ \--”

“ _ Nothing… nothing  _ happened _ , Paul, _ ” she cut him off, raising her head from her hands like it weighed a thousand pounds. When he got a better look at her, her face was also red and smudges of makeup had appeared under her eyes. Definitely crying, which he hadn’t seen her do much of in the entire time he knew her. Even after getting fired. Even after talking about her dead sister. She didn’t cry. She had teared up, but always caught it early enough to wipe the tears away before they fell. It was clear to him, though, that she had been crying significantly enough to manifest signs on her face. He stood there, unsure of what he should do. He didn’t know whether to maintain his distance or go to her. 

A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped at it angrily. “ _ God, what the fuck, _ ” she scoffed, shaking her head once again. It was as if she shook her head enough whatever had happened would just go away. “ _ Paul _ ,” she began, wiping at her cheek again with the back of her hand. She raised her eyes to his, which watched her with a deep concern. “ _ I’m pregnant _ .”

They sat at the table for a long time in silence, save for Janis occasionally letting out a soft ‘mew’ as she alternated between rubbing against their calves. He was the one to reach out and grab her hand. They didn’t look at each other, but they knew what the answer would be. It was quietly decided between the two of them. She had verbalized how she didn’t really have a plan for much of anything long term, but she knew that kids were never a part of it. “ _ Honestly, it was really a lone wolf kinda situation, so I guess I have to update some of it _ .” He wasn’t sure if he would want them either. Screwing up a whole new generation of people wasn’t exactly on his to do list, so he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt a little twisted up inside. 

It wasn’t spoken between them. They spent most of the night quietly. No TV. No cooking. No joking or jabbing. She went to bed early while he stayed at the table, scratching behind Janis’s ears, staring out into space. The water ran for a long time upstairs. He figured she must have gotten into the shower. A much longer shower than usual. Nearly an hour the water ran. By the time it stopped, he had to imagine she was out of hot water. There was no sound of the bathroom door opening. Just silence after the water turned off.

He dragged himself up the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. All he heard for a while was the sound of the fan whirring up in the ceiling. The light still peeked out from under the door, and she wasn’t in bed across the hall. “ _ Yeah _ ,” her voice came out softly. He pushed the door open to find her sitting on the toilet, wearing a pair of old shorts and a tattered t-shirt that read ‘HFHS DRAMA 2003’ in faded letters across her chest. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes but wouldn’t look up at him. Her arm thrusted out at him, a small piece of plastic between her fingers. “ _ I did like… five of them. _ ” A hyphen with a little ‘YES’ printed next to it.

She looked up at him, wet hair plastered to her head. Water was seeping through the material of her shirt, turning it from a pale green into a deep olive. Her eyes were tired and bloodshot. Her face looked hollow and long. Her shoulders hunched over, whether it was out of anxiety or sadness he wasn’t positive about. She bit down on her lower lip and looked down again. “ _ Paul, I… I can’t do it. I just can’t, _ ” she mumbled, tripping over her words. Her voice was thick with tears. “ _ I can’t do it _ .”

He placed the test onto the vanity counter and knelt down in front of her. “ _ That’s okay. You… um… don’t have to _ ,” he replied, sounding unsure of himself. What she wanted he would do everything he could to support. Unless it was murder. He already let her know he would have to seriously consider the circumstances regarding becoming an accessory to murder. But this wasn’t that time. It was all her, and he was all there for her. “ _ It’s okay _ .”

She nodded, allowing the tears to come falling. They crashed into small puddles on her legs, intermingling with the water that had been dripping from her hair. He shifted from his knees to sit cross-legged in front of her. His hand rested on her wet knee and was quickly grabbed by one of her own hands that had been resting listlessly in her lap. “ _ It’s okay, _ ” he repeated, his voice quiet but more reassuring. He squeezed her hand. “ _ It’s okay. _ ”

Their trip was all set to go, and she wasn’t about to let a weekend away go out the window. She took two extra days out of work starting that Wednesday, claiming medical necessity. He went into work late that day, drove her to and from her appointment, and asked at least a dozen times if she wanted him to stay home with her. “ _ Get the fuck outta here. I’ve got some drugs and Netflix. I’ll sleep all day and be fine. Bring home dinner _ .”

The drive up to Vermont was six and a half hours long. Initially, she was going to take the drive because he “drove like someone’s older than dirt grandma” and she didn’t want to be in the car all day. But instead, she found herself leaning the passenger seat in the Prius all the way back, scrolling through her phone most of the drive. They stopped a few times. Each stop was brief. Either for gas or to pee and get food. He tried to find something that had maybe grilled chicken on the fast food menu. She ordered a bag filled with fries. “ _ I don’t care how much it costs. Just fill one of those bad boys up for me _ .”

They pulled up to the cottage after six hours and forty-three minutes. It sat at the end of a long gravel driveway, lined by the woods. The house itself was small, as advertised on Airbnb. With red siding and a pale blue door, it looked like something out of a stock photo. The sun was hanging low in the distance, bouncing off the waters of the lake. There was a porch that appeared to wrap around the entirety of the house, including the side that faced the water. She was pretty sure this was the place where horror movies started, but she wouldn’t exactly mind dying in such a peaceful isolated place.

Lugging their bags in, she insisted on pulling her weight despite his insistence on carrying everything in himself. He dropped bags of food onto the granite countertop in the beautifully modern kitchen. White cabinets. Clean black granite. Stainless steel appliances. The entire lower level was an open floor. Everything was neat and clean and minimal. Like how she imagined he wanted his house to look before she moved in. Except this house wasn’t quite as sad looking. The back of the house was almost entirely windows, looking out onto the water. At the edge of the porch beyond the bench swing and patio table set, she could see a dock. Nothing was loaded there, but she could imagine a little boat, even a canoe, there. 

She hoisted his bag up over her shoulder and marched towards the stairs as he unloaded food into the fridge and onto the counter. Before he could interject, she hurried up the wood stairs, feeling a slight burning in her gut, but it was nothing major. More like a bad case of cramps than anything else. Upstairs was just as open. More of a loft than anything else. A king sized bed at the far side with a bench at the foot. A door to what appeared to be a bathroom towards the side opposite the stairs. A huge circular window let light billow in from the wall across from the bed. 

It was bright and beautiful. A great way to end her shitty shitty week.

She had dumped their bags onto the bench at the end of the bed and jumped face first onto the bed that was just as soft as she thought it would be. Burying her face into the smell of fresh laundry, she thought about the house. About living in a place like that. Painting out by the water. Cooking in a kitchen that wasn’t cramped. Waking up to the beautiful natural light pouring in. Pulling the pillow over her head to sleep in longer. He would read a book, laying across the entire couch while warm summer air breezed through the open windows. He would drink his coffee back by the lake while he scrolled through his phone. Janis would find so many windows to perch herself in.

It was the dream. Somewhere she wished she could be right in that moment rather than being in a moderate amount of discomfort for just a weekend. The thought of calling a place like that home was appealing. It was out of the way. People wouldn’t come to visit too much. They’d be able to just exist without worrying about neighbors or co workers or family. They would be the only family each other needed.

_ Family _ ? Where the fuck was her brain going?

She opened her eyes and found that the sun had gone down. The upstairs, once filled with light, was dark. A light came shining up from downstairs, and she squinted as she shuffled towards it. The stairs creaked under her light steps. A cool breeze brushed by her and with it brought the smell of garlic and basil. She shivered, hearing her stomach growl. She expected to find takeout containers with spaghetti and meatballs in them, but instead, there was a large pan with linguini, basil, fresh mozzarella, and tomatoes sitting on the stove. Using the plate and fork that were on the counter beside the stove, she loaded a pile of pasta before turning to the back of the house.

She quietly walked to the screen door and nudged it open with her elbow. “Morning,” he chuckled, looking up at her from his phone through his glasses. He had been wearing them more often at home. She claimed it was because he was getting old. He was pretty sure it was because he looked at screens all day. “Good nap?”

She shrugged, stuffing a forkful of pasta into her mouth. Cold but tasty. “You make this?” she asked, attempting to cover her full mouth with her free hand. He smiled nervously and nodded. “Not bad. Glad to see you’re paying attention when I tell you shit and also that you didn’t burn down the fucking house. I don’t think we could get away with culinary arson.”

“The faith you have in me is unending.”

Scoffing, she sat down beside him on the bench. “Listen, nerd, you knocked me up and now I’m in pain, so you better let me make fun of you,” she grumbled, taking another bite of pasta. As she chewed, she looked over to find him staring back at her with worry in his eyes. “If I don’t laugh at this, I’m going to get in my head and spiral out into some… I don’t know, dark shit, so just fucking go along with it…  _ please _ .” His brows remained turned upward but he gave her a smile. “Also, this is pretty good.”

They sat together in a comfortable stillness. The sound of the water hitting the shore surrounded them. Somewhere in the distance a deer scampered through the brush. A gentle breeze shook the leaves on the trees that were all around the house. Across the water, lights from other houses reflected beside the white glob that appeared to be the moon. She couldn’t quite tell because of the roof hanging over the porch, but it looked to be almost full.

“Hey, Em?” He rarely called her Em. It was because he liked her full name. Emma was not a name that really required nicknaming, but on occasion, he would shorten it down to a single syllable. She never told him that she liked it solely because it was so rare to hear it.

“Hey, Paul.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

He placed his phone down on the bench between them and shifted to face her. His face was relaxed but looked like he was determined, like he had a purpose for what he was doing. “I just want to know about… y’know. Long term things,” he explained, hands talking with him. “It’s just… things are going really well for the most part and--”

“Please don’t tell me you’re asking me to marry you after the shit I’ve been through this week.” Her stomach was filled with dread. The week had been so long and painful, both physically and mentally. She had panicked and thought about what would have happened if he had been adamantly against an abortion. She would have had to just up and leave, which was something she didn’t really want or have the funds to do. Aside from that, she had grown pretty attached to him. She didn’t really want that kind of conflict to come up between them. She also had thought about what would have happened if she kept it. What kind of mother she would have been. A terrible one. She could barely take care of herself, let alone a child. Yet the thought of being able to give someone the love and affection she so desperately wanted from her own parents made her heart feel warm.

“Oh, what? No. I wasn’t going to… did you think I? I wouldn’t have after… This feels like a trap and I’m not sure where to go with it,” he sputtered, trying to find the right thing to say. He drummed his fingers on his leg, looking away from her. “I mean, I wouldn’t do it right now, but maybe at some point if that’s what you wanted, too.”

She watched him wriggle around like a nervous child. He was so afraid to have her upset with him that he constantly danced around things he wanted. She didn’t know he hated spinach for the first eight months she knew him. After she had cooked at least four different meals with spinach in them. She was always nagging him to stop yes-ing her and just tell her straight up what he wanted or what was bothering him. They had made some progress but clearly still had a long way to go.

“Okay, let’s run with this. In this hypothetical situation, let’s say we become hermits. Find ourselves a nice fucking cabin away from everyone. Then we get a witch to give us a wiccan binding ceremony, so then basically you owe me your soul and--”

“Alright, okay, I get it,” he sighed, turning away from her. “It’s a bad time to bring that up.”

She grabbed his chin between her forefinger and her thumb to turn his face back to her. “Yeah, this is a bad time,” she concurred, wiggling his face back and forth in her hand. “Let’s leave it at the soul-binding ceremony for now. Put a pin in that bad mamma jamma, and then y’know--” she released his face and returned her attention back to her food. “--maybe bring it up again in a couple years. We can spitball some more ideas. Maybe skulls and bats. Shit, even a guy dressed up like the grim reaper.”

He looked back over at her with a tiny smile on his face, eyebrows raised. “Grim reaper?” he repeated as she continued listing off occult-related decor and guests. He shook his head and leaned back against the bench. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t read the entire contract before selling my immortal soul to you.”

“Oh, true. It’ll be buried in there. I’ll get Linda’s baby daddy Gary to write something up. He’s shady as  _ fuuuuck _ . I’ll get your soul, Matthews. One way or another. Don’t you fucking worry.”

A laugh left him, half relieved, half amused. She watched him run a hand over his face, full of delight for the first time in days. She was well aware that she drove him nuts, but he was getting used to it. For the plans he revealed he was hatching, he would have to be down for being driven right into the monkey exhibit at the zoo.

Because, evidently, she was going to be driving him bananas for a very long time.


	15. Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted has a party that Emma and Paul attend, which leads to Emma poking fun at Paul's musical taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep! Happy quarantine everyone! Well, I'm not quarantined. I work in a doctor's office, where I wash my hands constantly and hand sanitize between washings.

Emma wasn’t a bad driver.

She was just… aggressive. Which made Paul nervous. Very nervous. She was the sort of driver who liked to skirt in and out of lanes and felt like everyone was trying to race her. There was a constant sense of urgency even when she was in no rush to be much of anywhere. She had a lead foot and a short temper: a combination that could only lead to disaster. Or at the very least, a number of expensive speeding tickets.

Usually, he would drive despite her misgivings. As she would very frequently tell him, he drove like somebody’s grandmother who was trying to not accelerate to save money on gas. He stopped fully at every stop sign even if no one was coming. Constantly, he was a right lane cruiser. In no rush to pass anyone ever. It was safer, which is what he told her every time she complained.

So when he got drunk at Ted’s birthday, he was dismayed when Emma was the sober one and had to drive his car home. He wasn’t sure how it happened. It had been Ted’s goal for a long time to get Paul to loosen up one way or another. Every year at Christmas, he tried to spike the eggnog, so Paul would drink too much of it and end up sloppy and silly. And every year, it failed. Somehow, Paul had miscalculated how many John Dalys he had at the Labor Day/birthday get together. They just tasted like an Arnold Palmer. Just sweet tea and lemonade. A lot of sweet tea and lemonade.

Sweet tea and lemonade that lead to him crumpling himself into the passenger seat of the Prius, which had only had Emma in it for many months. She was outside the car, having just shut him in. His vision was fuzzy, but he could see Bill and Ted, leaning over the rail on Ted’s front porch. The three of them were all talking. He cracked the door open, so he could hear. However, he nearly fell out in the process.

“Oh Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?” she groaned, spinning around to steady and then shove him back into the car. He smiled at her as she focused on getting him back into his seat. A big doofy smile. She tried to hide the smirk on her face, but it was proving to be difficult for her. “Don’t look at me like that, bozo. You almost fell out of the fucking car because you were nosy.”

“ _ Was not! _ ” he groaned, whacking his head against the headrest harder than he meant to. “Ow. Okay, I just wanted t’talk t’you, pretty… face.”

She let out an involuntary chuckle and then let the smile take over her face. “Alright, Casanova.” Her hand reached up and gave him a soft pat on the cheek. Biting down on her lip, she tried not to laugh at his terrible reflexes when trying to grab her hand before she could pull it away. “Simmer down.”

“Y’know what? I’m  _ not _ gonna simmer down. I’m  _ not _ because  _ you  _ are just so--”

“So what, Paul?” Ted shouted from the porch, nearly toppling over himself. “So  _ what _ ? Let’s hear it, lover boy!”

“Fuck off, Ted!”

Ted turned to Bill, taking a big swig of the beer in his hand. “I like drunk Paul.” He turned back to address the Prius. “Hey, Paul! I like you better drunk!”

“Fuck _ off,  _ Ted _! _ And I’m  _ not _ drunk. Just a lil  _ buzzed _ . And you’re just  _ mad _ that I have a girlfriend and she’s great and my cat  _ likes _ her! And--”

“Alright, Buzzed Lightyear, I’m shutting the door now, so you stop embarrassing yourself. Kay?” With that, she slammed the door shut, shouting something back up to Bill and Ted. Bill responded to her, a serious look on his face. She waved him off, saying something back to him as she walked around to the driver’s side. The pair of shorts she was wearing reminded him a little of the ones she used to wear at Beanies. High-waisted and black denim. They made her butt look good. He had to remember to tell her that. While she opened the door, he heard her finishing her goodbyes: “Yes, I will make sure he lets you know we get back safe, Bill. And no, Tedwurd, I will not do that because that’s fucking gross and I have an ounce of self respect.”

“My name  _ is not _ \--”

Ted’s words were cut off by her shutting the door and flopping down into the seat. “Oh my god, how fucking long are your legs?” she laughed, adjusting the seat so her feet could actually touch the pedals. His position caught her eye, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. He did look ridiculous, all cramped up in the seat that usually sat her small frame. He never adjusted it and looked as if he were an adult riding a child’s tricycle. Uncomfortable. “Okay… um, put your seatbelt on. Let’s get you home.”

“Stop laughin at me. S’not my fault you’re so short.”

The drive home wasn’t a long one. Ten minutes maybe, but it felt longer drunk. Like a wide eyed child being driven to the park. The feeling of ‘are we there yet?’ was heavy in his mind, though he knew better than to ask it because he would more than likely get shit for the next few weeks over it. She reached over and turned the stereo on, trying to drown out the heavy breathing through his mouth. “Oh my god, Paul.”

“What?” She shuffled through the music that was playing off of a CD that was full of unlabeled songs. After a few seconds of each song, she hit the next button on the steering wheel, staring out into the road in disbelief. She jumped slightly when his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t skip this one. It’s sucha good song.” He closed his eyes and rocked his head back and forth against the headrest as best he could with the beat of the music, humming along happily.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, looking over at him when she got to a stop sign. He opened his eyes and looked back at her. “You’re Smiths trash! I can’t believe it. I mean, I had an idea because you were just listening to the Smiths and Tears For Fears the first time I was in the car with you, but this… this is fucking  _ gold _ .”

She pushed through the stop sign and onto their street. He straightened himself up in his seat, legs still squashed between the seat and the glovebox. Leaning in close, he made like he was going to kiss her cheek. Instead, he sang the lyrics to the song right into her ear. “Oh! Vicar in a tutu! He’s not stuh-rangeeeee! He just uh-wants to live life this wayyyyyy!”

Briefly, she glanced back over at him, a grin plastered onto her lips. “You’re a huge fucking nerd, you know that?” she began to shout as he turned the volume up to deafening levels. He closed his eyes again and tried to sing along, but his drunk brain simply couldn’t remember the lyrics Morrissey was blasting over the speakers. “Oh my  _ god _ .”

Vicar In a Tutu faded out and a flourish of acoustic guitar came through the stereo. His eyes went wide, and he smacked a hand against his thigh. “I  _ love _ this song!” She wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with his hands. She could only imagine that he was trying to do some sort of air tambourine. Even if that wasn’t his goal, she was going to pretend it was. Just because it was hilarious and on brand for him. “Now I know how Joan of Arc  _ feeeeeellllllltttttt _ !”

It was a little odd to see him be that boisterous. Even when they had decided to drink at home, he was still pretty mellow. That was sort of his thing. He wasn’t one to dance and sing. He  _ was _ the self-proclaimed guy who didn’t like musicals after all. If she had any sense about her, she would have pulled over and taken a video of him. For future use. Just in case.

But instead, she just watched him out of the corner of her eye as she pulled the car into the driveway. After putting it into park, she fully turned to face him. He was completely in the zone still, jamming to his Smiths mixed CD that he likely made himself many moons before. For a moment, she tried to imagine a gangly teenage Paul, sitting in his bedroom. Doing homework, tapping his pencil against his homework as sad British alternative music blasted through over ear headphones. Trying to drown out the taunts from his brothers. Trying to get the opening of Brigadoon out of his head. Trying to just concentrate on something.

She observed the gigantic doofus attempting to dance in the crowded seat, knocking into the seat and the door with every movement. What a dweeb. But he was her dweeb. Something that she never thought she would have wanted. To be tied down to someone. To be attached to someone. They weren’t a package deal. The two of them were their own individual people. But there was a feeling she couldn’t quite describe in knowing that she would come home to her person every night.

_ Her person _ ? Who the fuck was this talking?”

“So ask me! Ask me! Ask me!” He clapped four, very offbeat claps. “Ask me! Ask me! Ask me!” More claps. He didn’t even try to do four this time around. He was just having a good time. Drunk Paul found it easier to have fun than sober Paul apparently.

“Wow,” she chuckled, turning the music down just enough that their neighbors wouldn’t call the cops and file a noise complaint. It was well after midnight, and she highly doubted they wanted to hear the Smiths as much as he did. The volume change didn’t change his singing volume. Still just as ear shattering. Shaking her head, she laughed again at his ridiculousness. “Wow, I fucking love you.”

If a record scratch could play in everyday life, it would have played in that moment.

“You what?”

She sucked her cheeks in, realizing the gravity of the words that just left her mouth. His face was red and wide eyed. The smile was still on his lips, just slightly looser as his drunken brain tried to decipher what she had said. Her sober brain was attempting to catch up, too, in his defense. It had been a year since he tried to tell her he loved her. She had avoided it ever since. There were moments here and there wherein he reminded her of his feelings. Each and every time, though, she also reminded him that she wasn’t ready. Feelings were touchy for her. It wasn’t easy to be vulnerable, but that didn’t stop him from gently nudging her into that direction even if he didn’t mean to do so.

And god, did her heart feel a lot more for him than it ever anticipated feeling for anyone. For this dumb, dweeby, beanpole of a man who listened to fucking sad British 80s music and carried his cat around when he got home from work to make sure she had an okay day. The same man who was always giving her a hard time about leaving her shoes in the middle of the floor or not putting her clothes in the hamper. The same man who would quietly sit to comfort her when her brother-in-law refused to make time for her to see her nephew on his birthday  _ again _ . The same fucking man who came in and drank shitty fucking coffee every single day just to talk to her.

“I love you, Paul,” she repeated quietly, looking down at the steering wheel. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she wasn’t sure what to do. She figured whenever she said it she would be so drunk she wouldn’t feel this way. She also thought that the Smiths wouldn’t be the background music, but things didn’t always go the way she foresaw them going.

The goofy grin on his face, though, was something that could have been predicted. He stared at her for just a moment with the dumb open-mouthed smile before he leaned back against the seat. “Wow,” he whispered, just barely audible above the music. He ran his hands over his face, dragging his cheeks down with his palms. “ _ Wow! _ The hottest girl in the world  _ loves  _ me!”

“Oh my god.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened up her door. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

She sighed, grabbing the keyfob from the center cup holder. “We’re going to make out, Paul.”

“Oh my  _ god _ !” He pumped a fist clumsily in the air, smacking it against the roof of the car above his head. Unfazed, he continued, “The hottest girl in the world loves  _ me _ and wants to fucking make  _ ouuuuuut _ .”

“Get moving before I change my mind.” That was all it took to have him tumbling out of the car behind her. She could feel him looming over her, paying close attention to his steps so he didn’t trip and fall on her. “You’re standing real fucking close to me.”

“It’s because I love you.”

She spun on her heel right before the door, and he nearly toppled into her. “No, that’s because you’re drunk,” she corrected, staring right up into his little tomato face. His eyes were glazed over, clearly inebriated, but he still stared at her with this childish sense of awe and wonder. Like she was still the greatest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. She cleared her throat and turned away quickly. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You’re blushing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He was pointing at her with a shit eating grin on his face. One that would have normally made her proud, but she was sober and flustered and unable to deal with her emotions. “ _ I _ made you  _ blush _ ,” he elaborated proudly. “ _ I  _ did that.”

Shoving her key into the door, she unlocked and shoved it open. “You didn’t do shit,” she grumbled, heart still beating all the way into her throat.

“Oh, I so did do shit.”

He followed her through the door into the dark house and pushed the door shut behind him. She hadn’t turned on the lights, which confused him. He couldn’t see her in the dark, which continued to confuse him. It was difficult to decide if she was actually mad at him or if she was just flustered, which confused him even further.

Suddenly, he was shoved against the wall, and he could very easily tell where she was: pressed right up against him. “And what shit was it that you did?” she growled up at him. Whatever coherent part of his brain was left melted into a puddle. He very quickly wasn’t sure of what shit he did, but more aware of what shit he  _ wanted  _ to do.

And that particular shit was pulling him down to her by the collar of his shit.

He also loved that particular shit, and the particular shit just so happened to be willing to admit that she loved him back.


	16. Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Emma believe in ghosts? Should Paul go to the eye doctor? More on that to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe. I'm here funneling all my virus anxiety into fluffy goodness, so please enjoy!!

Summer was turning to fall very slowly that year. The days were warm, comfortably so. Not muggy. Not too hot. But the nights were getting colder. The second the sun went down a nippy breeze kicked up and over the earth, rattling the trees whose leaves were already beginning to dry out and drop to the ground gradually. Feeling the difference between night and day was quite jarring at times. Going into work without a jacket and desperately needing one upon leaving.

There was a sweet spot, though. Right when the sun was still shining enough over the trees to hit skin. Where the breeze was gentle and comforting. Wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans could be doable. No shivering or teeth chattering. 

After staying at the lakehouse, Paul had insisted on buying a porch swing for the back patio. Emma had tried to convince him that it wasn’t something that was necessary, but she came home one day to him putting the damn thing together. It seemed like an impulse purchase to her, and she would know. She was the most impulsive person she ever met. He was convinced, though, that it was a good decision.

She did have to admit that seeing him out there on a Saturday morning, reading and drinking coffee wearing his stupid fucking glasses, wasn’t too bad of a sight. 

They took to spending a lot of weekend afternoons in the light of the waning sun on that bench. She laid across the length of the bench, her crossed feet just hanging over the edge, with her head on his lap. He sat and read some book he had picked up from the library while he leaned into the corner of the swing, so she could have a more comfortable place to rest her head.

She looked up at him beyond the page side of his book. It was something she would never tell him, but the glasses were doing it for her. He had complained about how his vision was getting worse outside of the mornings and evenings when his eyes grew more tired. He was starting to need them whenever he was reading. On the other hand, she boasted about perfect 20/20 vision frequently. Especially after he began wearing his glasses more frequently.

“Does your face hurt?” she asked, furrowing her brows. He looked down at her now returning knit brows with more confusion. It wasn’t a flattering angle for him. Honestly, though, it wasn’t a flattering angle for most people: looking directly up at them and having them return the gaze by pushing their chin towards their neck. She’d give him a pass, though, she decided. “Because it’s killing me!”

He closed his eyes and exhaled, attempting to not laugh. His gaze returned to his book. “You laugh it up now, but when Steve Buscemi eyes become all the rage and suitors are knocking down our door, you’ll be eating that fucking joke,” he responded, turning the page. “And you can’t just go saying that it’s killing you when you told me that you liked it last night.”

“Opinions change, bud. Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Not that fast, I don’t think.”

“Yeah, they can. What about… I don’t know… Mel Gibson?”

Closing his book on his thumb to hold the page, he returned his attention to her. “Did you just compare my face to Mel Gibson?”

She stuck up her index finger defensively. “I  _ didn't _ do  _ that _ . I compared my opinion of your face to the public’s opinion of Mel Gibson. Totally different fucking ball parks, my friend.”

He opened his book back up, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, okay,” he snickered, narrowing his eyes to focus on the page in front of him. “Okay.” He wore a lopsided grin as he shook his head again, glanced back down at her, and then up once again at his book. “ _ Okay _ .”

“What’s that fucking look for?”

“You act all tough and stuff, but I know you.” Without looking down at her, he pointed a finger down at her. “You’re fucking soft, too.”

“Pfft, you wish,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “The only soft one here is you.” She knocked her head against his stomach, causing him to put his book down again. The look that he gave her made her almost regret her decision to poke the sleeping bear. He stared down at her with an arched eyebrow and a small smirk. Like she had just set him up for the slam dunk. “Okay, what is  _ this _ fucking face about?”

“I was going to give you a hard time, but I don’t think I will,” he explained as he pulled open to the page he left off on. 

She waited for him to stop reading and return to their conversation, but he didn’t. He dove back into his book and left it at that. No resolution. No playful confrontation. That was it. She hated that. There was no way he wouldn’t expand upon bothering her. Every day she gave him shit about one thing or another. It was her  _ love language _ (as she had read some girl she went to high school with post about on Facebook) or that’s what she liked to think. Being kind and sweet wasn’t something that came naturally to her. Jane got all the sugar and everything nice. Emma got the spice (and maybe Chemical X too) and a lot of it. He was patient with it and took most things in stride. Sometimes he even dished it back to her, which if she was honest with herself, was one of the more attractive things he did. 

But this specific instance was going to drive her nuts.

“What could I have possibly said that’s this good? I don’t say a whole lot that you could hold over my head.”

“I mean, it wasn’t something you said, but do we want to bring up the time you put cat food in your bowl instead of cereal and didn’t realize it until you went to take a spoonful?”

“Hey, that’s fucking cold. I was going on  _ three _ back to back twelve hour shifts at Beanies  _ during midterms _ . You’re lucky I even made it here with how braindead I was.”

“Or that time you got  _ so fucking mushy _ .”

Ah yes, sentimentality. The one thing that would get her in a way that no stupid thing she could do ever would. Sometimes he reminded her of the type of person that would leave little love notes on Post-Its all over for their partner to find at random times. Sweet little nothings. Long winded anniversary cards and monologues about how much their person means to them. She wasn’t even into that in her dreams, and he knew that. So she was pretty sure he compromised for her, which was better than any love letter he could have given to her.

“Don’t you goddamn dare.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Listen, sometimes you say these things, and I don’t know. They feel… really nice? And I’d like to let you know. I get you have your hang ups, but still.”

“Like last night?”

Smiling, he nodded.

They had been sitting facing each other on the couch the night before, sharing a Friday night beer. She had picked up a six pack of some local craft beer that looked interesting enough to at least give a shot. They talked about their weeks as they nursed at their glass bottles. Well, mostly she talked about her week. He just sat there, leaning against the back of the couch with his head resting in his hand. If she had taken a moment from talking about the new conservation efforts for Hatchetfield’s north and south beaches, she would have commented on the look on his face. He wore a silly grin the entire time she was talking, watching her intently. Soaking in every word she was saying. When she eventually thought about it, she really hadn’t felt more listened to than when she talked to him. No one ever really took the time to listen that long.

“ _ It’s really nice to see you so excited about something that isn’t successfully giving a shitty customer… well, shit _ .” He was really one of the nicer people she had met in her lifetime, and that was saying something because she knew Jane. God, she could only imagine how much  _ love _ and  _ support _ and  _ fucking smothering _ she would get if he and Jane were both around. They’d conference in when they were concerned about her and make sure one or the other was making sure she was taking care of herself and not drinking too much. They’d sit and talk over eggnog at Christmas because they both loved it (for whatever fucking reason that was). She’d thank him for riling her little sister down a bit. He’d clumsily say he couldn’t ever do that because she would surely beat the crap out of him. They’d put together stupid surprise birthday parties for her. The two of them would both remind her how much they cared about her and often.

Sometimes, she thought about the two of them meeting, and the images were so vivid they almost seemed more like memories than day dreams. “ _ Do you ever feel like… nevermind _ ,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “ _ It’s dumb. _ ”

“ _ Oh, I think dumb things all the time, _ ” he replied, not skipping a beat. She grinned at him with his stupid smile and raised eyebrows. The same face he always made when he was trying to make sure she didn’t feel stupid. “ _ A lot of dumb shit, so hit me with it _ .”

She took a long sip of her beer, considering his offer. It was funny how the third beer was making her feel like her head was starting to become a little fuzzy. She was getting fucking  _ old _ and  _ soft _ . “ _ I don’t know. It’s really fucking stupid _ ,” she was laughing, feeling more absurd the more she thought about it. “ _ It just feels kinda like deja vu sometimes. It feels like I’ve… I already knew you and we’ve already done some of this shit, which is  _ crazy _ because I didn’t know you until you started bribing me to like you. _ ”

“ _ Hey, it worked, didn’t it? _ ”

Closing her eyes, she sighed and it turned into chuckles as she shot a single finger gun at him. “ _ Do you ever just get the weird fucking feeling like we’ve done this before? _ ” she finally asked. When she asked the question, it sounded insane. At the very least, it was definitely a bit out there and weirdly philosophical. She didn’t believe in reincarnation or soulmates because none of that made sense. Beyond her logical attempts, she did believe in ghosts, which was neither here nor there. “ _ I’m not nearly fucking high or drunk enough for this _ .” 

“ _ It’s not crazy _ ,” he told her. She looked at him. His face was serious, no more joking or laughter in his features. “ _ I get it. I feel like that a lot. Sometimes it felt really weird and familiar especially in the beginning. Like I only knew you from Beanies and it felt like I knew you forever. Not in that… dumb fucking ‘oh we were farmers in a past life out during the expansion of the country and we rode our family and our wagon out west together’ type shit. Just… I don’t know. Deja vu. _ ”

She still felt like she wasn’t nearly intoxicated by something enough for this conversation, but it was nice to have him not look at her like she had three heads. His words seemed genuine, too. He wasn’t making fun of her or yanking her chain or leading her on. The responses were natural and legitimate. “ _ I don’t know, Em. _ ” He didn’t often call her Em often. Previously, he had said it was because she already had a short name that didn’t make sense to nickname, which was perfectly fine in her book. But boy, did it give her butterflies when he did. “ _ If there were other times, which would be crazy--one hundred percent bonafide nuts--but if there  _ were _ other times, I really hope they ended up like this _ .”

Shrugging, she looked down at her beer, swirling the liquid around in the bottom of the bottle. “ _ Maybe, but I don’t know. I feel like I don’t want a different time. _ ” She thought about her next words carefully, mulling them over in her brain before speaking. “ _ I mean, if there were a time where Jane was alive maybe, because  _ fuuuuck _ she would have fucking loved you. You’re both dumb and sentimental. And she would have been  _ thrilled _ to see the shit I do now. Really just doing shit with my life. _

“ _ But, y’know, I’m happy now. I think I always thought roaming around somewhere was going to be happy. That just getting out of here would have made me happy, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not stoked about ending up back in Hatchetfield. But it’s different now. I’m not always getting fucking compared to a person who was as close to perfect as you can get. I don’t have my parents to make me feel like an absolute dumpster piece of shit anymore. And I mean, fuck, you’re like my favorite thing in Hatchetfield. Sorry, Janis! I’m just… like really fucking glad I got to meet you and sorta wish I got to do it sooner. It’s… it’s all pretty fucking stupid. Sorry. _ ”

He had gotten into his listening mode again and was watching her with this dreamy look in his eyes. Like he was floating off on a cloud somewhere as she spoke. Just as quickly as all the words had left her mouth, they seemed to be drying up. The flood of word vomit was beginning to be quelled. She just looked at him with nothing more to say, so she simply shrugged again. “ _ Hey _ ,” he said quietly. She raised her eyebrows, feeling a little drained. “ _ I love you. _ ”

Sighing, she gave in. “ _ I...um… love you too. _ ”

She stuck her tongue out at him from his lap on the bench, but he had made his point and smiled triumphantly because he was well aware of it. He poked his index finger against her nose. “ _ You _ love me, you fucking  _ nerd _ ,” he jabbed at her in a sing-songy tone.

“Well, it takes a fucking nerd to know a fucking nerd, ya big fucking nerd.”

He grinning into his book, returning to reading and leaving his arm to rest against the back of the bench. She took his hand and traced the lines on his palm with her fingers, wishing for just a moment that she could have some sort of ability to read it. To know about what the past and the future might have been holding secret. That was impossible, though, so she would just have to settle for only knowing the present, which all things considered was an okay thing to be in the know about.


	17. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma likes Halloween but Paul doesn't like to put the effort in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really touched that so many of you are enjoying this. It's really become therapeutic to write some good fluff and stuff for these guys with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope everyone keeps enjoying but more importantly stays safe and well.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

Emma slid out of the kitchen and looked down at her body and held her hands out to her sides as if to show off her work. “Damn straight,” she immediately responded. “Risky Business!” The tube socks and sunglasses inside at night finally made sense. She lifted the sunglasses off of her eyes to look right at him. “C’mon, Paul. It’s Halloween! Get in the spirit!”

Paul had learned from the ever illusive drunk mothman the previous year that Halloween was her favorite holiday. From Emma, however, he had been made aware of the significance of Halloween or at least the season around it. She rarely talked about her parents. They were still a sore subject for her, and he was just thankful that she was beginning to more regularly talk about Jane. 

The one tidbit he was able to get out of her was that their mother--Silvia--was the daughter of Mexican immigrants. He wasn’t able to get much more out of her aside from the three of them having a lot of creative fun during the entire month of October. She mentioned having to pick out their favorite foods each year for offerings. One year it was kettle corn for her and Oreos for Jane, so they took both and strung them on some fishing line to hang above a few colorful candles and pictures of their late grandparents. Their mother chose homemade jelly donuts and their father chose a cup of black coffee. Truthfully, they only got to delve into the very surface of Dia De Los Muertos, like the beautiful flowers and delicate artwork that appeared in face paint and the delicious chocolate sugar skulls, but it was still something she held foldly about the season. 

The esqueleltitos (little skeletons, as she so abruptly explained when he asked for a meaning in the middle of her storytelling) were little things that she had been making since she was a little girl. The whole family would take them and hide them around the house in silly places for different people to find.

He still had all his little skeletons in the drawer beside his bed.

She adamantly reminded him that it was not Mexican Halloween, as her mother had always told her. It just so happened to fall during the mainstream season of ooky spooky things, so they usually went hand-in-hand. Halloween was the party part of the season. Where she could be creepy and sexy and drunk and weird. She always tried to visit Jane on November first with gifts (ofrendas), but it usually ended up being closer to mid to late November. Closer to the actual anniversary of her death.

It made sense to him why she would want to have such an end of the world level of fun on Halloween. Effectively, it was a last hoorah before she went into a season of nostalgia and mourning. So he was willing to go along with her shenanigans. That didn’t mean he would dress up, though.

“The costume is a fucking cop out _again_ ,” she groaned, gliding across the wood floors on her socks until she was face to face with him. “I think this is truly a deal breaker. I didn’t think it would end like this.”

“Hey, it’s… _clever_ ,” he replied defensively. He pressed his palm against the ‘Fe’ that was printed on the front of his plain white t-shirt. “I’m Ironman.”

“Pfft.” She shoved him hard in the middle of his chest, slipping her sunglasses back over her face. “Ironman my ass. Fucking cop out.” As she sauntered back into the kitchen, Ironman couldn’t help but notice the slight curve of her ass just peeking out from the hem of his shirt before she rounded the corner. 

She was making drinks for the two of them after their plans had fallen through. It was going to be them going back to Melissa’s because she apparently held a huge party every year. But the terrible stomach bug that went around most of the office ended up hitting her last. The day before Halloween, so the whole shindig was canned. Which left them at home with all the fixings for a tequila punch she was going to put together at Melissa’s house.

The opaque red drinks she held in her hands as she came back out of the kitchen. made him slightly nervous about how angry his stomach was going to be at him in the morning. Also his shirt was white. The red drink was a terrible fucking idea, but rather than put a damper on the evening, he accepted the drink before he sat down in a chair at the table. “Let me know how it is,” she chirped, hopping up onto the table to sit directly in front of him.

He took a sip, and his eyes went wide. “Oh _no_ ,” he muttered, looking down into the glass. Red and ice clattered against the ice as he sloshed the liquid back and forth. She was staring at him with narrowed eyes, wondering what the problem could possibly be. “That only tastes like Hawaiian Punch. You’re trying to kill me.”

Winking, she shot a finger gun at him with her free hand. “You better believe it,” she laughed as she took a sip of her own drink. “I’m getting you dancing tonight one way or another. I figured tequila is the best shot I’ve got at it.”

“ _Tequila_?”

“Yep, the only liquor that’s also a stimulant. Our good friend tequila: you’re either going to bang all night or end up punching some guy in the fucking face.” She kissed the side of her glass. “Hey, maybe both can happen tonight. _Anything_ is possible with tequila.”

He took another long swig of his drink. It did taste like Hawaiian Punch if Hawaiian Punch felt warm sliding all the way into your gut. His face was already getting red, and he could feel it, though he was unsure of whether it was because of the warm feeling in his stomach or at the implication of banging all night. “Are you going to punch me in the face because I won’t dance with you?”

With lips pursed, she squinted at him, considering his words. “Maybe,” she replied. Another chug of drink. “Just maybe, though. I feel like I might break your nose, and that’d be a shame because I like it.”

It was his turn to squint, this time in confusion, at her. “You like my nose?” he snorted, giving into the drink once again. The red liquid was sweet and delicious, and the warm feeling inside his chest felt just as sweet and delicious as the actual drink.

“Yeah,” her voice was softer than he expected as she reached out and pinched his nose. “It’s like a long elf nose or some shit like that. I don’t know… it suits you.”

He grinned at her, which caused her own smile to form. In turn, she cast her gaze away to stare down at her drink, a move she often made when she was getting too mushy. “Well, thanks. So, um, please don’t break it. I really don’t want to get punched in the face.”

“Then you’ll have to dance, ya piece of shit.”

“That one was a little strong.”

“Your face is a little strong.”

Leaning back in his chair, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He set her up, unwittingly, and she took the pass to slam dunk it right back on him. “You earned that one,” he admitted, holding both his free hand and the half empty glass up.

“Your face earned--”

“You’re going to ruin it.”

Off quietly in the kitchen, The Monster Mash played for the seventh time that evening. The first few times he remembered to comment on that and the fact that he didn’t understand the appeal of the song. By the fifth time, he was too entranced in her getting excited to give candy out to the plethora of trick or treaters that came to the door. 

“ _We’ve gotta be the good house, Paul. Gotta get that good shit_.” By the good shit, she meant dozens of full-sized candy bars. It was a needlessly expensive trip to the store. At least he thought so until she lit up at each child losing their mind when they looked in the basket she opened the door with. The excited energy that radiated from her when she went dashing at the sound of the door bell was palpable. Her voice sounded like bells as she asked about each person’s costume and dished out endless genuine compliments. It was like watching Ebenezer Scrooge at the end of a Christmas Carol except with more of a ‘Happy Halloween. Satan curse us, every one’ sort of vibe. 

Then there she was, slinking in and out of the kitchen to retrieve drinks for them. He was pretty sure she was only doing it so she could slip more tequila and cointreau into his drinks because they were tasting suspiciously more and more like tequila in particular. But he figured he would let her have that one. Besides, her words were starting to get blurry in his mind. All he could hear was her laughing at her own joke, and all he could do was watch on with the biggest smile.

Just a couple years before, he would have been in bed already, having left a bowl of whatever candy was left at Walgreens the morning of Halloween. Melissa had invited him every year to her Halloween party, but the thought of going to that made his insides crawl. He would have been stuck alone trying to find Charlotte or, god forbid, even trying to find Ted. It would have ended in him slipping away early on in the night because he was miserable and would prefer to be in bed trying to sleep with Janis curled up on his stomach. 

If he was being honest, he still didn’t really want to go to parties, but she liked going. So he went. It was easier to shrink against the wall being there with someone knowing they weren’t going to leave without him. She usually didn’t allow that to happen, though, because she was going to make him “ _social if it fucking kills me_ ”. Even if he didn’t talk much, but just made his presence known and actually interacted with humans outside of her and work. She had drawn the line in the sand very early on that having chats with Janis didn’t count as real socializing. Much to his chagrin.

Although he had to admit, it wasn’t as much of a struggle to get out and do more social things anymore. He went to Bill’s monthly to have dinner with him and Alice. He occasionally agreed to get drinks with Ted, Melissa, and Charlotte despite usually getting frustrated with Ted not even a half hour in. He could finally make eye contact with Mr. Davidson again, which was a huge weight off of his shoulders.

“Hey,” she breathed, pulling him right out of his thoughts. She was leaning forward on her palms and her face was much redder than he had remembered noticing. His glass was also a lot less full than he remembered. He couldn’t quite tell how many glasses he had either, which was concerning. “I’ve got a dance with you, and this is it.”

Somehow the Monster Mash had switched to jazz, an odd addition to the eclectic musical taste she had. There was the occasional show tune and pop hit. Sometimes it would be a nineties girl power pop playlist for weeks on end. Other times it would be soft indie pop that he could probably fall asleep to. Jazz was never one that he noticed, not to say that she wouldn’t listen to it. Because she probably would. She wasn’t nearly as picky as he was. Which was the case with almost everything. 

If he had been even a touch more sober, he probably would have protested her guiding him away from the table and into the kitchen, but the image of her all red in the face pulling him along with her by the hand in one of his shirts felt like something out of a movie. Some days it felt like he was literally living in a movie. Twenty year old Paul who had just been dumped by Jessica Sanders would think this life was a made up crock of shit by a fortune teller or something.

She pulled him to her until they were pressed together. “Okay, and you’re just gonna,” her voice trailed off as she dragged his hands down, hinting that he better get into position otherwise he was going to get punched in his elf nose. His hands rested warm against her waist, pulling the fabric of the shirt up just a little bit. “See, you’re not as fucking clueless as I thought,” she chuckled. Her hands, on the contrary, were cool against his cheeks. They pulled his head down until their foreheads just barely touched and the noses bumped gently together.

He had danced a few times. Not with anybody of note for the most part. A girl in high school. A couple in college. His grandmother at one of his brother’s weddings. They were all stiff and uncomfortable like he imagined every person must have felt during musical choreography. What the two of them were doing, though, could barely be considered dancing. It was mostly swaying to Ella Fitzgerald’s crooning party because he wasn’t a dancer and partly because they had consumed a healthy portion of the tequila punch she put together. “I know this song,” he remarked proudly, which got a chuckle and a pat on his cheek from her. He did know the song, but it was one that was usually a bit more upbeat and with a man singing, he was pretty sure. He recognized the repeating line at the very least. _Just the way you look tonight_. 

“Dancing” with her was easy. Just like nearly everything. Things just fit right with her around. Even the difficult days seemed to be more manageable with her in his life. Like getting out of the house and fucking dancing. He had to admit that the idea of him, Paul Matthews the guy who hated musicals and most things the majority of people would consider _fun_ , dancing in the kitchen of his own house with a live-in girlfriend, whom he seemed to love more everyday he spent with her, was a bit outrageous,

But somehow he made it there. With all the outcomes that could have happened at any given point in time, he felt like somehow he thread the needle. He didn’t even mind dancing with her and couldn’t deny that the toothy grin on her face was infectious. “Got me, I guess,” he murmured with a laugh.

“I’m gonna tell Mustache about this so he can give you shit when I’m not around.”

He closed his eyes, imagining Ted going off about him dancing in his kitchen in a stupid fucking Halloween costume with the crabby Beanies barista. Snickering. Poking fun. Taunting. “Okay,” he agreed, shrugging and then pulling her up closer against him. He leaned down to bury his face in the nape of her neck, which, based upon her heart pounding against his chest, was something she hadn’t expected.

Arms snaked around the back of his neck as she clung to him a little harder. They had stopped swaying and Ella had stopped singing fading into Billie Holiday. Instead, they stood there locked in, holding each other. What the other wouldn’t know is that they both hoped that this was going to continue to be real because sometimes it didn’t feel like it was. Some days it felt like they were going to wake up in old cold beds back in different times and head spaces and all of it would have been a beautiful dream.

But they would tumble into bed that night, tossing both of his shirts clear across the room. And then they would both wake up completely hungover and draped around each other, twisted up in sheets and blankets. She would wake up first, keeping one eye closed to try and mitigate her pounding headache, and run a single finger down the bridge of his nose, careful not to wake him up. She’d smile and close her eyes again, trying to will herself up to get Advil they would both desperately need.


	18. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have a guest over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are once again. And here is a joke that is mildly in poor taste:
> 
> What goes best with the Corona virus?
> 
> Lyme's disease.

When Tom had called Emma to babysit out of necessity the weekend he wanted to finally get out and go to that woodworking convention in upstate New York, she couldn’t help but feel glee rise in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to try to start making amends with the only family she had left, and whenever she and her nephew ended up being around each other, they always had fun. Tim was a cool kid. Constantly wanting to zip around and do things, which she loved.

Not that she didn’t like all the chilling out at home that she and Paul did. He wasn’t one for staying busy. He was usually content to sit around on a Saturday and just laze about the house. It was needed once in a while, but she craved being busy. At the very least it was nice to even do things in the house.

That weekend, she and Tim were going to have a great time. She was sure of it.

Tom dropped his son off at their small house and wouldn’t even partake in small talk with her. It had been painful to watch. Clearly the relationship was more than strained between the two. There was unspoken hostility especially coming from Tom. “ _ I wouldn’t have called you if there was anybody else _ .” 

As Paul watched on from behind her, he could see her shoulders sag slightly. The words hit her like shards of glass, and she just let them. She couldn’t blame her brother-in-law. She had disappeared for ten years and then suddenly was ready to be in their lives after tragedy struck. One night, she had confessed that she didn’t even go to her sister’s wedding: a fact that filled her with guilt daily. It was easier to just let him have at it than to try and defend herself.

Tim, on the other hand, barreled past his father and nearly tackled Emma in a hug, which brought the smile back onto her face. He was nearly as tall as she was, which wasn’t very difficult, and made sense considering his father was not a slight guy. Tom was definitely a little shorter than Paul was but he was stocky. Even after being shut in most of the time, he was still thick with muscle. Add in the beard, he looked like an angry lumberjack. In reality, he was just a hermit of a widower who peaked in high school. He couldn’t even be bothered to remember Paul’s name immediately after it was said to him. “ _ Yeah, great to meet you, Pete _ ,” he had muttered, not entirely paying attention to him. 

It was telling, though, when he was parting ways with Tim. He knelt down so they were at eye level with one another, pushing a lock of sandy hair out of his eyes. Clearly, the fight between the two over Tim cutting his hair had ended with the father conceding. Tom whispered something to Tim, looking at him very seriously. In response, Tim rolled his eyes but smiled and nodded his head. His big arms enveloped the small boy easily. Tim seemed to be taking after the Perkins side. He was petite and skinny, his clothes swimming on him. Sharp edges to his jaw. Mop of thick hair. Chocolate brown eyes that were warm but could kill you at the drop of a hat. “ _ Love you, buddy _ .”

“ _ Love you too, Dad. Be careful _ .” Despite the gruff nature Tom presented himself with, the facade fell when he looked at his son. A tiny boy who was broken far too soon. There was nothing but love in the blue eyes that stared down at the boy. Maybe a bit of awe. Like he couldn’t believe that this boy was his son. Like he was some little miracle. He leaned over to press a kiss to Tim’s forehead and then mumbled a half-hearted goodbye to Emma and Paul before trudging back through the front door.

Paul couldn’t help but feel a minute tinge of jealousy somewhere in the depths of his heart.

But it was quickly set aside as he very quickly realized he now had two tornados spinning around the house. Tim was eleven and was always wanting to do something. He brought his Nintendo Switch with him (a Christmas gift given to him the year before), and he and Emma played Mario Kart for hours on end surrounded by piles of snacks and ice cream. Paul had to remove himself and not get twitchy at the sight of rings of liquid being left on the glass coffee table or crumbs falling carelessly between couch cushions. Biting his tongue was going to be difficult, but he was sure going to try his hardest to make it work.

He had never seen her laugh so much.

No one would have guessed that they rarely saw each other because they got along so famously. Making quick remarks back and forth at each other. Giggling over the stupidest puns. She was particularly impressed when he dragged her ass six ways to Sunday in a game that was explained to Paul as being titled Arms. When she lost, she bowed at him before they shared a solid sounding high five. 

Watching the two of them together left Paul with a strange feeling. Children had been a fleeting topic here and there, and they had both been in agreement that it likely was something neither one of them were interested in. They were in their mid-thirties and not getting any younger. Plus, they weren’t looking to damage a future generation even if it was inadvertently. But watching her with her nephew made him a little nostalgic for something he didn’t even really want. She brought him into the kitchen to help make every meal. She was patient and guided him through scrambling eggs and making homemade tomato sauce. They had gotten into several art projects that were all left half finished on the dining room table. Paper with swirls and doodles folded into fantastic shapes and only half taped together. It drove him nuts to leave them there, but he almost looked forward to watching them finish them at some point.

His interactions with Tim were limited. They were mostly when they ended up alone together when Emma had to shower or use the bathroom. He was awkward as per usual, not knowing how to act around adults or children. Internally, he cursed himself for not being able to socialize more easily. “ _ You like to read, Tim? _ ” he finally tried, grasping at anything he could get at.

Tim shrugged. “ _ Some stuff _ .”

“ _ Yeah, like what? _ ” Paul replied, noting to himself that he needed to be a little less enthusiastic and condescending with his tone.

The boy fiddled with the edge of a piece of scrap paper that was tossed onto the table. “ _ I dunno. Dad just started letting me read Goosebumps and Harry Potter. I like both of them so far _ .”

“ _ No way. I loved Harry Potter _ .”

“ _ Really? _ ” Tim didn’t look convinced.

“ _ Really. I was eleven when the first book came out. I had to beg my mom to let me get it. What’s your favorite book _ ?”

“ _ I’m only on the third one. _ ”

“ _ You mean the best one _ .”

They talked enthusiastically about the fantastic world of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley until Emma finished her shower. When she finally came downstairs, wet hair tied up in a bun on top of her head, they were sitting across from each other, trying to decide which house the other would be in. Tim was convinced Paul was a solid Hufflepuff. Paul was leaning towards Gryffindor for Tim. She couldn’t believe Paul was turning her coolass nephew into a big dumb nerd, but she still smiled wide at them.

He was only there for the long weekend. His school was closed Thursday and Friday, so Emma had taken off to actually be able to watch him. The timing lined up with Tom’s convention. All the stars had aligned, and she felt for once that she was actually getting to spend time with Tim. Actually getting to know him. His favorite color was green. His favorite subject in school was recess (a boy after her own heart). His dad was teaching him how to play guitar, but it took too long and his fingers hurt all the time because of it. He had a set of RC cars that he liked to drive down the long hill in his backyard and try to see if they could make it all the way back up to him.

She sat with him every night before he went to sleep, cross-legged at the end of the bed in the guest room. That was when they would have their serious talks. Nothing too philosophical because he was, you know, eleven. But not as light hearted and airy as Harry Potter. Saturday night, she spent a long time sitting and talking with him, perched on the edge of the bed next to him instead of at the end.

Paul was in the bathroom, struggling to fish the contact out of his eye. He had finally given in and admitted that he probably needed assistance with vision all the time and not just when he was reading. The glasses were a hassle during his day to day life, or so he thought. As he looked at the sad piece of plastic on his finger that finally came out of his eye, he wondered if just wearing his glasses all the time would be worth the two week commentary from Ted. He’d have to sleep on it.

From the bathroom, he could hear Tim and Emma talking as they did. “Can you tell me about my mom, Aunt Emma?” his voice was small and nervous. Maybe not nervous. Maybe just sad. Tim was seven when his mother passed away. There was only so much he could remember about her from so young.

Emma took a sharp breath in. He could picture her chewing on the inside of her cheek and knitting her brows together. “Well, she was… she was one of the nicest people I ever met in my whole life. She liked to take care of people. It was kind of her thing,” she began, clearing her throat when her voice wavered slightly. “She liked to plan things. Make sure everything was always right, like always. She had this f… freaking binder with all these neon colored cheetahs on it.” Tactfully, she omitted Lisa Frank as a descriptor so as not to confuse Tim who very likely had no idea what that was. “She got it when we were both little, and she wrote out everything in it. Every little thing she ever planned to do or wanted to do went into that thing

“One time she found out I was failing a science class and ran out of school. You know, like a dumbass.” She stopped abruptly. “I am  _ so _ sorry, Tim. I--”

“Dad says fuck and shit a lot. I’ve heard it before.”

Her laugh rang out, genuine and hearty. “Okay, but just… don’t tell him okay. You’ll get me in a crap ton of trouble.” What she really wanted to tell him was that his dad would never let him come over again if everything wasn’t perfect. “Just promise.”

“Cross my heart. Now, back to Mom.”

The bed creaked as Emma leaned onto her palm. “Right, so… Jane, your mom, found out because she had a study hall period and went home early to actually study, so she got the phone call that I had run out of school. When I finally got home, she was standing there with her chemistry book open all set to sit me down and get me learning.  _ And _ she never told our parents which was pretty damn cool.” Her breath grew a little louder and a little more haggard. “She took care of me, so I wouldn’t have to go to summer school. So I wouldn’t end up ruining my life with stupid things.

“She was a good lady.” She paused, gazing at her nephew. “You look like her, you know. Well, you look like our family, but like, tall and… stuff.” Another laugh left her, this one a little sadder and almost watery sounding. “She loved you a lot, kiddo. When I was away, she sent me pictures all the time. Every single thing you did, she would take a picture and make sure I got it. You with your little chubby arms and cheeks and--”

“Aunt Emma,  _ nooo _ ,” he groaned, but he was laughing. Paul leaned against the sink, smiling. She poked at him with other embarrassing descriptions of him as a baby. When the laugh had died down, there was silence for a matter of seconds. “She loved you, too. There was a picture of you and her on her desk. I think it was you guys. You were little kids and you were wearing matching pink jackets and sunglasses and stuff.” The smile began to falter on Paul’s face.

“Yeah, well, that was the nineties for you. A lot of windbreakers and bad haircuts,” she played it off like it was nothing, but there was something twisting up in the tone of her voice. “But we should probably get you to bed. It’s getting late, my dude.” She pressed a kiss onto her palm and then pressed her hand against his forehead. He beamed up at her with Jane’s eyes. With her own eyes. Familiar but distant. “You sleep tight, kid.”

She crossed the floor and flicked off the light, pulling the door closed, so it would be open a crack to let the hall light in. “Aunt Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come and stay over again?”

“Any time you want, bud.” The door creaked shut again. “Good night, T--”

“Aunt Emma?”

“Yep?”

“Is Paul my uncle?”

“I… um…” She leaned against the doorframe. As he brushed his teeth, Paul could see her drumming her fingers against the frame. He craned his neck to get a better look at the scene in the hall, but nearly fell over in the process. Barely, he saved himself silently, not giving away his eavesdropping. “He’s… he's just Paul. I think you could call him whatever you wanted and he’d probably be okay.”

“Could I call him Jim?”

“Probably not. I think he’d like Paul better.”

“Okay. Just Paul then,” he agreed. “Good night, Aunt Emma.”

“Night, Tim.”

She snuck past Paul, shuffling across the carpet, not even taking notice of him in the bathroom. He heard the covers rustling as he rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth and placed his brush back in the holder. Then the sound of the switch on the lamp on her bedside table turning off. Odd. He flipped the bathroom light off and then walked into their room, gently shutting the door behind him.

He slid into bed, finding her curled up and facing away from him. Very strange. They laid there like that for quite a while. Silent. A little tense even. He stared up into the black. Some nights the street lights outside wouldn’t turn on, and it would leave the house impossibly dark once the lights were off. His eyes trained up at the ceiling until they adjusted and could just barely make out shapes using the miniscule amount of light seeping underneath the bedroom door.

Then he heard her quietly let out a breath. It sounded almost as if she had been congested, which he was pretty sure she was not. Another breath followed by a sniffle and her trying to quietly wipe at her face. He weighed his options for a moment. Pretend to be asleep. Spare her from addressing her feelings at that moment. Ask her if she was okay. Pry and make her talk it out.

Settling on neither one of those options, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around her. Once his chest was pressed against her back, he could feel her soft heaving breaths. She didn’t like to be caught crying. It was something she usually did in private, which was why she was turned away from him, but she couldn’t just ignore him. There was nothing for him to say. Nothing he could say to make things better. Plenty to make things worse. So he just kissed her shoulder softly and buried his face into the back of her neck.

The labored breathing and sniffles continued for a while. Time seemed to run away during the night, so he couldn’t be sure how long she cried. It felt like an eternity. At one point, she grabbed his hand and held onto it tightly. Her weeping became slightly more audible for just a moment before she got it back under wraps. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

Eventually, her breathing regained more regularity until it was even and slow. The tension her entire body had been holding onto seemed to lessen. The grip she had on his hand grew looser. She had fallen asleep and he felt relieved. He wasn’t sure how he could help her. Truthfully, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t really be able to do much more than what he was already doing. Supporting and being there to listen when she wanted to talk. And that was fine with him.

His eyes drifted shut shortly after she had fallen asleep, his arm still wrapped around her form and her back pressed flush against him. 


	19. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving at Tom's takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET READY TO BE UPSET.
> 
> All of the things said about a certain character were taken from implications in If I Fail You.
> 
> another content warning for alcohol abuse.

Thanksgiving had been… interesting.

For the first time since she had been back in Hatchetfield, Tom invited her to Thanksgiving dinner. It wasn’t meant to be a big affair. Tom and Tim usually spent it by themselves from what Tim had told her. At Tim’s insistence, his father begrudgingly reached out with the invite. “ _ Yeah, you and Phil can come over if you want _ .” Very nonchalant, but Emma had been excited no less.

On their drive back home, though, she was less than thrilled.

“Becky Barnes? Can you believe that shit? He went crawling back to  _ Becky Barnes _ of all fucking people.” She was in the passenger seat after indulging in a few glasses of wine at dinner. Her hands flailed about in annoyance and exasperation. “You know they dated in high school, and I bet he was fucking in love with her the whole time. She was a bitch to Jane. You know that? Bullied her kindergarten and through high school. Fucking asshole. I bet he didn’t stop thinking about her. Even when he was fucking  _ married to my sister _ . Can you  _ believe  _ that?”

“Emma, it’s been almost four years. The guy--”

“Paul,” she snapped, glaring at him. “You are  _ literally _ not allowed to play devil’s fucking advocate in this situation.”

“I’m just saying that things aren’t always black and white. You can’t--”

“You’re not allowed to side with him, Paul!” she yelped as she slammed her fists against her thighs. He hit the breaks at a stop light and looked over at her. Her eyes were glazed over and staring through the front windshield, clearly a million miles away. Maybe on another planet either. Maybe just in another time. 

“Okay,” he responded softly. The light turned green, and he accelerated. “Okay.”

After dinner, he and Tom found themselves alone at the table. Becky and her sister, two delightfully upbeat gingers, had cleared the plates and were off giggling in the kitchen over the coffee they had just brewed. Tim had dragged Emma up to his room to show her his model of the solar system he was working on for school. That left him to sit by his lonesome with her stone-faced brother-in-law. Or former brother-in-law.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to refer to Tom as in relation to Emma. Either way, he was immensely uncomfortable. “ _ Thanks for inviting us _ ,” he began, clearing his throat. “ _ Dinner was great, and it… means a lot to Emma. _ ” Tom let out a scoff in response as he took a swig of water from his glass. “ _ You guys are the only family she has. _ ”

“ _ No offense, Pat-- _ ”

“ _ My name is Paul, _ ” he corrected, attempting to keep his voice light, but it was starting to bother him. Every single name that started with p except for the right one. It wasn’t that difficult of a name to remember. He couldn’t have been that fucking forgetable. 

“ _ No offense,  _ Paul _ , but how would you feel if your dead wife’s estranged fucking sister showed up after a decade and tried to be all in your business? _ ” Tom’s voice was low and clear. There was no sense of clear contempt in his tone either. All just matter of fact. And when he put it that way, Paul couldn’t exactly tell him he was wrong. “ _ I’ve known her a lot longer than you. She’s always been a flaky little shit. I mean, good for her doing something now, but it’s a pretty new thing _ .”

“ _ I know she wasn’t here a lot of years, and I think she feels guilty about it. _ ” He didn’t just think it. He knew. It was something she was vocal about. Missing so much of the last third of her sister’s life was something that weighed heavy on her conscience. She knew she had been wrong and that there was going to be a lot of bridges she would need to mend, but she was trying. “ _ She’s told me a lot about Jane. She sounded like-- _ ”

“ _ She was a good lady _ ,” Tom admitted, staring down at his glass. His eyes drifted off a little bit. Emma had told him that Tom was driving the night Jane died. There was always a bit of blame in her voice whenever she spoke about it, which wasn’t very often. “ _ She dealt with a lot. Her folks always expected a lot from her. Perfect everything. I think she married me to get back at them a little. _ ” A sad laugh. Tom looked back up at Paul. “ _ Listen, she was a great woman. Smart and beautiful and mom of the fucking year. _

“ _ She tried her best. Dealt with a lot. Had to raise a kid on her own during my second tour. She had a career too. Worked in pharmaceuticals. She did all sorts of science-y shit. I don’t know… I didn’t understand a damn thing when she talked, but she was passionate about it. _ ” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes slightly at Paul. Almost as if to say, ‘why the fuck am I telling  _ you _ all of this?’ “ _ The last couple years were rough, though. I saw a lot of shit, man. It got… bad out there. Then I came home and this kid was running around. He grew up so much when I was gone and he was… a little fucking pinball _ .”

“ _ Sounds like it’s a family thing _ .”

That made Tom chuckle, and he tipped his glass in Paul’s direction. “ _ I think Jane had been basically cooped up the entire time I was gone, and I wasn’t there even when I got back. _ ” Paul wasn’t exactly sure what to do with this information, but he felt it was better to let Tom keep talking. Like he was an underpaid therapist. The words were spilling so easily from Tom’s lips he had to think that it had been a long time since he had talked to anybody about this. Let alone someone who had an inkling of the other side of the story. “ _ She went out a lot a couple months after I got back. She had a lot of friends, so I think they took her out to bars and shit.  _

“ _ Their parents were shitty, man. Wanted so much outta those girls. Jane was the oldest, so she got the brunt of it. Straight A’s. Full ride to college. Good career. Marriage. House. Kid. White picket fence. All that shit, y’know? They were always riding her. Especially after Emma left. There wasn’t anyone for them to be disappointed in. They watched Tim a lot while I was overseas, and I think being around them so much and then having a fucked up husband after really did her in _ .

“ _ It wasn’t the drinking that really screwed everything up. Not really at least. _ ” He considered his words, letting them mull around in his head. “ _ I mean, maybe. There was a lot of fucking shit going wrong, so she drank. And she was a mean drunk. She’d come home late, and I wasn’t sleeping so it was a shit storm _ .” Paul thought about drunk Emma constantly booping his nose and trying to do pirouettes in the kitchen. “ _ She would push at me to try to get me to feel something, and then I’d start having these… flashbacks. And I’d push her back. We’d be in a screaming match in each other’s faces. Tim would come down crying… it wasn’t working _ .”

“ _ I’m sorry, man. I didn’t--” _

“ _ Why would you know? Jane wouldn’t have told Emma that. She wanted her fucking sister to be proud of her too. Proud of her for having her shit together. She always said one of them had to have it together… at least during that last year.  _ “ His heart stung thinking of Emma talking about Jane taking care of both of them. Always thinking of her baby sister before she did anything or sent out any sort of invitation. “ _ She wasn’t always like that, but sometimes desperate times can bring out the worst in people, y’know? _ ”

Paul nodded, hearing Tim and Emma laughing somewhere upstairs. The only family she had left. The only part of her sister she really had left. The best parts of her sister. “ _ I’ve gotta say, though. She seems to be really trying to keep it together. Didn’t think she’d stay this long honestly. _ ” Tom drained the rest of the water in his glass and placed it back down on the table. “ _ And Tim really likes her. _ ”

“ _ She feels bad about being gone. Guilty over Jane and Tim. She wants something there, and she’s been trying really hard. She’s been trying to be so nice to you because she wants the relationship with you guys _ ,” Paul explained, reaching out to grab his own glass of water from the table. “ _ But don’t tell her I said that. _ ”

“ _ Hey, you think we talk enough for me to rat you out? _ ” Paul couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “ _ Listen, I don’t want you thinking Jane was a bad person. She wasn’t. She was  _ so good _ and I loved her. She just didn’t know how to deal with everything. She was holding the whole fucking world on her shoulders and her back finally gave out. Neither of us could handle what was going on and it went wrong. _ ” 

Tom went on to talk about running into Becky at the mall about a year after Jane’s passing. Pure coincidence. They reconnected, exchanged numbers, and talked on and off for the next few months. She had just left an abusive marriage and gotten a job at St. Damian’s. She couldn’t have children, so she decided working with them was the next best thing. They went on a date for the first time in over a decade six months later. He felt a spark for the first time in years.

They sat and Tom talked at him for nearly an hour. “ _ Just don’t go to Emma with this, Paul, _ ” he warned. “ _ We don’t get along, and I think she’s a shitty sister and an _ asshole . _ But… I know she idolized Jane. Tim doesn’t need to know either. It’s better if they remember her the way she really was: good and bright and caring and fucking organized. She had this binder… _ ”

Paul thought about Tom and Jane as they drove home down dark streets, careful to proceed through intersections even after stop lights had turned green. She continued to rant and rave about Becky and Tom and Jane. Occasionally, he added a small nod, thinking about Tom’s words. “Emma, I think you should give Tom a break,” he interjected.

“I’m sorry.  _ What _ ?” Her tone was sharp and her eyes could have stabbed right through his skin.

“I think you should give Tom a break,” he told her, doubling down on his statement. “He lost his wife, and he’s raising a kid by himself and--”

“He can’t even be bothered to remember your fucking name.”

He squeezed the steering wheel, trying to keep her feelings in mind. Talking about Jane was still like walking blindfolded through a room filled with mousetraps. “I think you should give him a chance, Em. That’s all I’m saying,” he sighed, loosening his grip on the wheel.

The entire rest of the drive was spent in tense silence. The thick sort of silence that felt like it was suffocating anyone around. Emma was hard headed. She was easily the most stubborn person he had ever met, but it kept her moving forward. It manifested in conviction and steadfastness. She could be thick and insensitive, but she always would double back and try to fix it later even if she didn’t want to admit she was doing it.

They brushed their teeth in the silence and climbed into bed without saying a word. She would normally chatter until eventually falling asleep because she liked talking to him, as drunk Emma liked to tell him frequently. He read for a short time while she curled up on the farthest edge of the bed that she could, leaving a massive space between them. Don’t go to bed angry was the one relationship tip he could remember popping up at any wedding he had been to. But it was unrealistic. Sometimes your partner is a bull headed peanut who doesn’t like to be told they might be wrong, which leads to the silent treatment. Sometimes feelings needed to stew and simmer overnight.

He switched the light off and found himself listening to her soft even breathing. It was calm and not indignant as she had the tendency to be. Rolling onto his side, he thought about what he had been told by her and the story he heard from Tom. The funny thing about history was that pictures could look different depending on the perspective of the viewer. Depending on what they had witnessed and what they knew. From the outside, plenty of things looked much more perfect than they were.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, she was warm against his back with an arm wrapped around his stomach. He grabbed her hand and let his eyes slide shut again.


	20. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though it's way too cold, Paul drags Emma to a tree lighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some straight up gooey fluffy goodness. Because that's what we all need right now.

Paul had somehow convinced her to go out for the annual Hatchetfield tree lighting despite the temperature hitting below freezing. “ _ C’mon, Emma! It’s the best. I used to go all the time when I was a kid _ .” It was a little endearing and cute how enthused about a tree lighting.

However, once she was actually out amongst the Hatchetfield populous in the bitter cold, she was finding it far less endearing. They had been able to walk to Oakly Park from their house, only being about a half a mile outside of uptown, but half of the crowd was stuck in traffic trying to find parking. “I don’t understand why this place is so fucking packed,” she grumbled into her scarf.

He walked briskly beside her in his black wool coat. She had picked it out for him after his old winter coat had shed feathers on her the entire winter before. They went to the Lakeside Mall just as the temperatures began to dip to find him a new coat, and despite his misgivings about it, the wool coat is the one they left with after she flat out told him that all the other jackets looked like shit in comparison. A red scarf was wrapped around his neck, peeking out of the lapel of the coat, and he was wearing the olive beanie she had gotten him the year before for Christmas.

He also wore that stupid grin over his face, turned pink by the chill. She wanted to turn away from him because he could probably get away with just about anything with that dumb face. But she couldn’t. “If you get to have Halloween, you have to give me this,” he replied, looking down to meet her eyes. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were tinged the same shade. He looked like an excited kid.”It’s Christmastime in Hatchetfield!”

With that, she rolled her eyes. The smile running its way across her lips couldn’t be denied, though, so she nudged into his side with her hip. “Yeah, no shit. I couldn’t tell by all the fucking Santa hats,” she retorted with a snort. “You know what time it is all year round in Hatchetfield?” She glanced back up at him and found him returning the gaze. “ _ Nerd time _ !”

“ _ Jesus _ ,” he muttered as she rammed into him, wrapping an arm around his back. He wanted to keep a stoic face, but her laughter at her own terrible joke was making it difficult. And it was an unprecedented moment of PDA: something she rarely partook in, if ever. It was a good thing that the weather had already turned his cheeks red and the season had him in a great mood.

Returning the move she had just made, he pushed her toward the other side of the sidewalk as he laid his arm around her shoulders, but instead of the cute moment she was able to have, they found themselves running into a group of people trying to mind their own business as they walked. “Oh my god.” His arm immediately dropped from her shoulders. He held his hands up in front of him defensively. “I am  _ so  _ sorry. Oh my god. I… uh… I’m so sorry.” 

The group simply looked at him as if he had just suggested they could go and shove a hot coffee up their asses. It took them a solid fifteen seconds before they finally kept walking, speaking in hushed tones and glancing back every now and then. “Look at you, you little heathen,” she teased, poking his stomach. “Can’t even keep your shit together on Jesus’s birthday.” He shoved his hands into his pockets before turning to continue down the sidewalk, taking long strides. “Hey, come on!” she shouted after him. “I have short legs. This isn’t fair!” She sidled up next to him, legs moving quickly to keep pace with him. “Hey, cut that shit out.” 

A hand reached into his pocket and fished out one of his, holding it tightly. Trying to say ‘I’m sorry but that shit was funny’. It was another rare gesture. Perhaps it was because they were wearing gloves. She said that she hated holding hands because one person inevitably would end up getting their hand sweat all over the other. But she continued to hold onto his hand as they walked into the square. The icy block of embarrassment in his chest--created by his little blunder--began to melt. His stomach churned with butterflies.

At the center of the square there were numerous vendors, mostly selling sweets, lined up with lights and tinsel. People of all ages were gathered around with big smiles, buried in scarves and hats. Gloved hands wrapped around cardboard cups with steam rising from them and enormous plastic bags containing kettle corn. Loud excited chatter filled the air, mixing with the likes of Bing Crosby and Andy Williams. 

The park looked different at night filled with people and lights. She glanced up at him, finding him looking out at the different booths. His face was illuminated by the streetlights and the strings of lights hanging from the booths and fences. It was like he was a kid on Christmas morning. Full of joy and enthusiasm. Not his usual M.O. 

It wasn’t even the way he had acted the year before. In fact, he really just went along with whatever she had wanted. They spent a good part of the morning freezing their asses off on the beach and then proceeded to watch all three Austin Powers movies while eating Chinese food and drinking beer. But that was what she wanted. He seemed to have enjoyed it, though. He didn’t complain, but then again, even when he didn’t like doing something, he wasn’t one to tell her. The tree had even been an issue. She just wanted a real tree. They always got a real tree when she was growing up. But he grumbled about how messy it would be. On the other hand, she did catch him mumbling along with most of the songs that played through her phone speaker. He thought she wasn’t watching, but she caught every little grin when he would back away just a little bit and admire their work decorating the tree.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” he finally said. He was still reveling in the fact that she was holding his hand. And in front of all those people no less. “Dad stopped taking us when I was ten. I think Mom said something to him. One year we went. The next: nothing.” His eyes flicked about the booths, trying to decide where to go first. Clearly, he still found it just as magical as he did when he was a child.

They mutually decided that the best option was to hit up hot chocolate first. A young girl was in the booth, looking less than enthused to be there. “Here you go. That’ll be five dollars.” A disingenuous smile came across her features as an older woman entered the booth behind her. 

He was quicker on the draw than Emma was and pulled out a ten dollar bill to hand to the girl. She opened the small metal box that had various bills in it, placed the ten in, and went to pull a five out to give back to Paul. He raised a hand. “Keep it. Merry Christmas.” For just a moment, the girl’s features brightened as she stuffed the bill into her pocket and muttered a half-hearted ‘Merry Christmas’ back to him before turning to the next person in line.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Emma peeked up at him as she blew on her hot chocolate through the opening in the plastic lid. He looked back at her with furrowed brows, unsure of where she was going. “Flirting with another woman.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What? No.  _ What _ ? Why would I… Emma, she was like… sixteen,” he blabbered, suddenly feeling very cornered for something he wasn’t doing. He was just trying to be nice. Was that misconstrued as flirting? He was all at once questioning every single encounter he had ever had with wait staff.

“I don’t know,” she began, a small smirk coming over her face. “It’s a classic Matthews flirting technique. Overtipping the girl who serves you your hot beverages. Although, I don’t know. Maybe I should be worried after that fucking response. You trading me in for a newer model, Paul?” His shoulders sagged with relief, allowing the concern about what every waiter and waitress he had ever tipped was thinking about where their relationship stood. Laughing lightly, he took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Lighten up, Paul. I’m just fucking with you.”

“Well, yeah, that’s why I’m trading you in for a newer model.”

“But I doubt they’d come with all  _ this _ \--” she gestured up and down her body, doing a twirl to demonstrate all that the newer and shinier model would be missing “--and someone’s got to keep you on your toes anyway. Imagine how bored you’d be.”

Brazen, he reached for her hand and held it in his. “It’d be pretty hard replacing you, Em.” She looked up at him with one brow arched. “Besides, she was way too polite to her customers. Not really my type. A little tall, too.”

“You’ve got some taste. I’ll give ya that one.”

They wandered around the square for a while, taking a look in at the booths while they sipped on their hot chocolates. The line for the kettle corn was absurd and filled from end to end with thrilled children, bouncing around with excitement or sugar. Maybe both. Various fried foods were being served elsewhere. Funnel cake. Fried oreos. Donuts. One booth sold hand sculpted coffee mugs. They came in every color imaginable and weren’t entirely uniform, but she found herself captivated by them and insisted on standing in line to buy two. “One for each of us,” she explained. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting soft on me.”

“Oh no, not at all. I just didn’t want you to be suspicious about my real plan to have a second one while the other sits in the sink overnight.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“That’s actually what I’m going to go for my doctorate in. Little shitology. Because I’m a fucking natural at it.”

She hadn’t ever seen him smile so much. Even drunk Paul had his moments of seriousness. This was a version of him she’d never witnessed. Just happy and… strangely at ease. No leg bouncing or nervous pacing. It was a far cry from the red faced, suit clad dingus that couldn’t even ask for her number without the help of his obnoxious friend. Different from the man who took her out to a bar and had to be prodded with questions to get any sort of conversation out of him. Not the same guy who was living in a sad little house with white walls and barely any furniture. All by himself. With his cat. Coming home from a nine to five job that he had since getting out of college and eating the same dinner every night(usually something frozen with little variety to it). Going to bed at nine o’clock only to sleep and then start it all over again the next day.

He was different. Not that she was going to complain about it. The changes were good ones. He smiled more. He was less tense. It was just as easy to fluster him, she found, but she was certain that was just because she was who she was and sometimes that made his brain get all twisted up. For god’s sake, he even sat at the table on Thanksgiving and talked with Tom for at least an hour and didn’t look too uncomfortable when she swooped in to save him. That was growth if she had ever seen it.

But this Paul. Tree lighting Paul. He was unique. There was a particular glow about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. Was this how people perceived pregnant women? Was this the  _ glow _ they talked about? She was mostly positive that he couldn’t be pregnant. Unless this was a weird version of some divine miracle. Putting a pin in impossible immaculate conception, she decided that his brain must have been overtaken by aliens. It was the most plausible option she could come up with.

The two of them stood at the far edge of the crowd that gathered around the gazebo in the center of the park. A group of carolers stood at the steps, belting away at some rendition of Good King Wenceslas. Each one looked like some version of someone’s sweet old grandmother who baked cookies and handmade sweaters and socks for Christmas or kind old grandfather who always had a silly anecdote to add at family dinners or sat with a grandchild on his knee telling stories from his youth. But that wasn’t why they looked vaguely familiar. “Hey,” she whispered, nudging him with her elbow. “I think those are the people you rammed me into earlier.” His eyes went wide and his chin retreated into his neck. “Good job, Scrooge McDuck. You pissed off the sweetest old people in town.”

“No way they’re that nice. Really nice old people would have known it was a mistake,” he insisted, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other shoved itself into his coat pocket. He’d been doing that all night. Digging his hands into his pockets. Fucking weirdo. “ _ They _ are a bunch of judgmental old biddies and they should feel bad about it. It’s  _ Christmas _ ! The one time of year where you’re obligated to be nice.”

“Oh I didn’t get that memo. Did you forget to CC me?”

“No, it probably just went to spam.”

All she could do was chuckle, both hands wrapped around her second hot chocolate. She didn’t tip the girl behind the counter as generously but did suggest to her that she tuck all her tips into her pockets so she wouldn’t have to share with anyone else. Around them there were plenty of people in the same boat as her, clinging to the warmth of hot chocolate or coffee to keep from turning into human popsicles. Children sat atop parents shoulders, as to get a better look at the caroling. The parents below them split their focus between the tree lighting ceremony and the looks of wonder on the chubby faces above them. Their smiles could have taken the place of the lights on the tree.

An older couple was bundled in their jackets and huddled up together further into the park from them, whispering to each other and laughing occasionally. The man leaned down and kissed the top of the woman’s head. She said something up to him to which he responded with an eye roll. Her grin was wide (and clearly made of fake teeth) and evidently contagious as one started to creep onto his face, too. Looping an arm around his, the old woman said something else as she patted his arm. Whatever it was made the old man’s eyebrows shoot up, wrinkling his forehead even more than it already was, while the woman cackled away.

Emma’s attention returned to Paul who was fiddling with something in his pocket, eyebrows knit together in concentration. She watched him just long enough that she was hoping he’d notice. Which he did. It was almost like she  _ knew _ him or something. Immediately, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and blinked down at her. “What?” he blurted out.

“You’re being weird,” she accused as she took a sip of hot chocolate. “Like you’re normally a weirdo, but tonight you’re being a  _ fucking  _ weirdo.”

“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird. I am  _ not _ being weird,” he babbled, shaking his head.

She jutted her chin out toward his far pocket. “What’s with the hand in the pocket, ya fuckin weirdo?” she demanded. He simply blinked at her again. “Yeah, what’s going on over there? Think this little shit isn’t an observant little shit? You’re wrong there, buddy boy.”

His face went redder than it already was as he shifted away from her. “Nothing. I have… a loose string. It’s bothering me, and I can’t stop pulling at it,” he insisted, buttoning the pocket shut. “I’ll just cut it out when we get home.”

“Can I see?”

“What? No!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “See? You’re being fucking weird,” she repeated, pointing up at his face. A nervous smile came across his face while his eyes darted back and forth. Her finger wagged in his face for a moment, wanting to maintain her suspicion, but the lovable dork getup was wearing her down. “I’ll figure it out. This isn’t fucking over yet.” Settling back down and turning to face the gazebo again, the mayor of Hatchetfield was saying something inaudible as the microphone had gone out. The people near the structure laughed at something he said.

And then the lights went up.

Not just on the tree but on every street lamp. Lights lined so many surfaces and objects around the park it actually shocked her. All at once the park went from cold, dark December night to winter wonderland. Lights in the shape of candy canes and wreaths topped the taller street lights. Railings by the short steps throughout the park were wrapped in strings of white lights. The tree itself was lit with rainbow lights in large bulbs, large enough that she could make out the shape of them from far away. 

The greatest light of all was on his dumb bug-eyed face. He had a huge smile on, mouth slightly ajar. Like he had just seen Santa Claus himself eating cookies at his dining room table. Wonderment. Joy. Any sort of word she could think of to describe the look of pure happiness on his face would fit perfectly.

She tugged at his scarf, pulling him out of the Christmas daze. He was still smiling and the glow was still bright on his cheeks. His eyes were transfixed on her now but maintained the same sense of glee as when they watched the lights go up. What a big dweeb. But he was her big dweeb. God, he was making her so soft. “Hey,” was all he could utter.

“Hey,” she mimicked, yanking on his scarf once again to pull him down into a kiss. A kiss that surprised him enough that his eyes stayed open wide for a second. He wasn’t used to the PDA and it took him a moment before he eased into the kiss. His hand found her cheek, pulling her up onto her tiptoes. 

The other hand was busy swatting her hand from his closed pocket. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled against her lips. “Stop being nosy.”

“Then stop hiding a fucking string, you wack.”

He held onto her hand, interlacing their gloved fingers, which was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. “God dammit,” he grumbled, desperately trying to make the move work. She couldn’t help but laugh at his complete lack of slickness. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Nope,” she shot back, taking her hand back to wrap her arms around his neck. She’d be nosy later because she had to give the poor frustrated guy a break. It wasn’t easy not being suave. “You big stupid--”

“Dork. Dumbass. Nerd. Yeah, we get it.”

“Now that’s not fair to me. Maybe I was going to say something nice,” she insisted. “Like maybe I was going to say big stupid cool guy, but now you’ll never fucking know, will you?”

Much like the old man from earlier, he rolled his eyes but the grin stayed on his face. “Yeah,  _ okay _ ,” he said, his tone just slightly mocking.

“Okay? Okay?” she replied, her tone fully mocking. “Okay?” Her taunting was just ramping up when he pulled her back up into a kiss. A move that made her squeal quietly as he scooped her just off the ground. 

In that moment, she had the perfect word to describe the dumb look on his face all night.

It was bliss.


	21. Cocktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted throws a New Years party that Emma insists on going to. Paul is keeping a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here have a weekend closing thing!

Somehow Emma had convinced Paul that going to Ted’s New Years party was a good idea.

Ted lived in a spacious house close to downtown. At some point, he had disclosed that he came from money. Some sort of elite family that had spent generations in the town. Lawyers or something. So his beautiful and roomy house made sense. Not that he didn’t make decent money at CCRP, but his house was something else. Four bedrooms. Three and a half bathrooms. Two car garage. Fully finished basement that could really double as an apartment he could realistically rent out.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” she muttered as they pulled up the driveway and parked behind Charlotte’s Civic. “Why were you the one always paying for coffee? Obviously Douchey McMoneyPants was playing you like a fucking fiddle.”

“I honestly didn’t want him to be able to hold anything over my head,” he replied, leaning down to peek up at the house. He had been there once to drop Ted’s work laptop off to him before a snow storm was about to hit. Well he had only been there once that he could really remember much of. Ted’s birthday party almost didn’t count because he could barely remember what happened there much less what it was like at the house. It was the drunkest he had ever been and would ever be. Though she did want to create a sequel to Labor Day because she “ _ liked drunk Paul _ ”, stating he was a lot of run.

“I just didn’t remember it being this nice,” she mumbled, gathering up the container filled with cannolis and kicking her door open. “I just don’t get how someone who is  _ such _ a creep could end up in a fucking palace.”

“You do realize that you wanted to come to this, right? I was fine staying home.” He followed suit and exited the car before opening up the back door to grab the case of Heineken and handle of vodka they were contributing to the alcohol pot. His pace quickened, so he could meet her at the door. “I’m just saying I would have been okay with eating all those cannolis by myself and not having to worry about legal fees when you assault Ted.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’d like to think I’ve got my shit together a little more now,” she shot back at him, pressing the doorbell with her elbow. “Besides, Melissa’s going to be here to hold me back when I break through the very penetrable Paul barricade.”

“ _ Hey _ .” 

“What? When have you ever gotten a situation under control?” she demanded. When he was silent just staring at the door, she gave a smug grin. “Don’t get mad because you know I’m right.”

The door swung open to reveal Ted decked out in a Hawaiian button down short sleeved shirt with the top few buttons undone and a full on grin. They had all agreed on a laid back New Years. No need to dress up or do anything crazy. Just a bunch of friends hanging out. Yet there Ted was, looking like someone’s drunk uncle they lost while he flirted with a cocktail waitress during their family vacation. He was even holding a drink that appeared to have a wedge of pineapple on the rim of the glass.

“Well if it isn’t Jack and the fucking beanstalk!” he hollered, clearly having already been hitting the alcohol long before they arrived. “Come on in!” He moved aside in the doorway to let them in, still grinning like a fiend. “About fucking time you guys showed up. I thought you made Paul solve three riddles before letting him cross your bridge.” Paul watched the side of Emma’s mouth twitch as she tried to contain herself. “Or maybe you were going to a-go to her and do the sexy--” It was the Borat voice that did her in.

“Listen, Salvador Dali, I don’t know where the fuck you get off giving me a hard time when that shirt is the ugliest shit I’ve seen in a long time. I think you better throw it out before it starts melting your clocks… or my fucking retnas,” she snapped back at him as she stormed through the foyer and into the kitchen, where she was greeted by an enthusiatic Melissa squeal.

Paul just stood there with his eyebrows raised, glancing between Ted and the doorway into the kitchen. The pat on his shoulder really shocked him into fully looking over at Ted. “I’ve gotta say, it’s nice to see some seasoning added to your plainass life, buddy,” he said, letting his hand rest on Paul’s shoulder. The look on Paul’s face was probably one that could be interpreted as disgust, but he was really just confused. This was such an oddly sentimental statement from Ted he was almost worried he had poisoned the food. “She’s out of your league, though, but good for you.” With that much more Ted-like line, he gave him a heavy smack on the back before trudging into the kitchen, where he continued to test Emma’s patience.

In the kitchen, all of his pals from work were milling about. Melissa and Emma were having a battle of the wits with a very buzzed Ted. Bill and Charlotte sat at the end of the island talking quietly amongst themselves as they nibbled on what appeared to be taquitos. He decided it was a safer bet to join Charlotte and Bill than try to intervene with the other three. Dropping off the alcohol in Ted’s pretty barren fridge, he grabbed a beer before heading over to the calmer of his friends.

Charlotte perked up, flashing her pearly white smile. “Hey, Paul,” her voice was perkier than usual. Which was odd. She was emotional, even a little dramatic, most of the time, sounding like she was coming straight out of a 1940s drama half the time. Dramatic and old fashioned. “Sam finally signed the papers.”

“Oh, Charlotte, that’s great,” he replied genuinely. After years of trying to make it work with her scumbag policeman husband, she had finally had enough. She wouldn’t tell any of them what drove her over the edge, but the boy wonder, Ted, had accidentally implied that she caught her now ex-husband in their bed with a girl who was barely out of high school. Not that she had been entirely faithful either, having the ongoing thing with Ted, but she still deserved better than to chase after someone who clearly didn’t have what was best for her in mind. At the very least, it explained Ted’s good mood. “Good for you!”

She reached up, chuckling, and knocked her glass against the neck of his beer bottle and then against Bill’s glass of water. “Alice and Deb are getting an apartment together,” Bill grimaced, taking a long drink of water as if it were alcohol. No matter what they did, they couldn’t get Bill to drink, always insisting he needed to stay sober in case they needed someone to drive if there was an emergency.

“I thought you were… y’know…  _ trying _ to like Deb a little more,” Paul inquired, remembering all of Bill’s positive updates. Trying vegan food with his daughter and her girlfriend. Going to see movies they were interested in but slightly went over his head. Going out and just doing things with the girls. “It sounded like things were going well.”

“They  _ were _ , Paul, but I don’t know. With all this--” his voice lowered to a whisper, causing Charlotte and Paul both to lean in to hear him, “--marijuana stuff happening, Deb’s been a little more… vocal about her habits.” Paul bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep quiet, eyebrows raising and head bobbing as if to agree with his friend. Oh if Bill only knew about Emma’s pot farm aspirations, he might just have a heart attack. “I don’t know. I love Alice and I respect her choices. Deb is just… she’s a big stoner. And I just feel like she’s a bad influence on my daughter.”

“I think Alice really is a lovely girl,” Charlotte piped up, looking to Paul to continue the compliments.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely!” Paul sputtered out, eyes going wide and continuing to nod. “Alice is a really good kid and valedictorian last year, right?” Bill nodded in agreement, staring down at the table. “With Deb in her life the whole time, right? And from what she’s told me, college is going great even with Deb around, so Bill, I think she’s going to be fine.”

“I just feel like Alice could do better,” he admitted, taking another gulp of water. “There are so many more girls out there who--”

“Still wouldn’t be good enough for your daughter,” Paul cut in. Charlotte and Bill both stared at him in wonder of his oddly appropriate nugget of wisdom. Even Paul was a little shocked by how well he was able to add something useful to the conversation. “Yeah, you’ve just got to trust Alice. She knows what she’s doing.”

“I know,” Bill sighed, admitting defeat. “It’s just hard.”

Across the room, Melissa and Emma stood across from Ted, sipping on drinks that he had made for them. It was actually just a pineapple punch he had put together before people had actually arrived. “This is actually surprisingly good, Ted,” Melissa mused as she sipped from the lowball glass that he handed to her.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Emma started, crunching an ice cube between her teeth. “This is a pretty fucking bomb ass drink. Nice work, doucheass.” She met his and Melissa’s glasses between them and the glasses clinked loudly.

“Thanks for the compliment, you sly bitch.”

Melissa narrowed her eyes before wagging her finger between the two. “I think you two would actually get along,” she decided, nodding her head as she took another drink. “Yeah, I think you two would be pretty great friends.”

“Yeah fucking right,” Ted snorted.

“In his fucking wet dreams,” Emma spat out.

“Oh laugh it up, you idiots,” Melissa replied. “You’re both loud and mean and clearly have some unresolved childhood issues that cause you guys to act out when people try to get close to you.” They both opened their mouths to disagree with her, but she put a hand up to stop them. “Don’t try me, bitches. I know things. Look at my face.” She pointed to her now wide eyed face. “This is the face of someone who gets told things whether she wants it or not. I think it’s the soft unassuming face and the friendly eyes, but that’s not the point. Stop making it so tough on people to like you guys.”

“Whoa, whoa, plenty of people like me,” Emma said defensively. Although she was very much aware that she came across as harsh. It was something that she was working on because not everyone appreciated her stony exterior like Paul did. Even he managed to weasel his way into the nougaty center. 

“Yes, that’s because you’re much more personable. Something that you could teach our good buddy, Ted. Because he wouldn’t know sensibility if it came up and bit him in the ass.”

“ _ Hey _ , now that was just uncalled for,” Ted whined as he dumped more punch into his glass. “I invite you into my house just to give me a fucking lecture on New Years fucking Eve. This just seems like cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Ted, I walked in and you told me if you weren’t off the market you’d be interested in ‘hittin that ass’ when the clock struck midnight.”

“Yeah, it was a  _ compliment _ .”

“Ted, I’m really fucking gay.”

“So? It was still a fucking compliment.”

Emma leaned back onto the countertop and squinted up at him, extending her glass out to him. He took the hint and filled her glass up again. “What does Charlotte see in you?” she muttered into her drink. “She’s so sweet and nice, and you’re so… you.”

“For your information, she was cheating on her husband with me  _ and _ her therapist for the past four years, so yeah, keep thinking she’s all sweet and innocent all you like,” he retorted as he took a swig of his drink. “And it would shock you to know that beneath this cool and collected exterior that I, too, like a nice fucking cuddle every now and again.”

“Mhm,” Melissa hummed in response. “Charlotte always struck me as the big spoon type. Right, Emma?” Emma nodded in agreement, giving a quick finger gun and a wink to her. “Does she keep you safe at night, Ted? From all the monsters who--”

“Laugh it up, you assholes,” Ted scoffed. “You all complain that I need to stop being such a fucking sleazeball, but the second it seems like that’s going to change you shitheads decide to make fun of me.”

Emma poked his stomach. “You make it so easy, though,” she laughed, feeling the rum warming up her insides. “We’re not being serious, though, fuck face.”

“Yeah, Ted, don’t take it so seriously,” Melissa agreed, draining her glass of the rest of its liquid. “I just want you to be happy and stop being such a sleazy dickface.”

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Emma chimed in, nodding in agreement. “You seemed really happy tonight, buddy.” She smacked his back so hard he nearly spilled his drink. He glared in her direction, which she responded to with an exaggerated beaming smile. “And even if Paul is on the fence about you, I do like you, Tedwurd. I think we should keep you around. Even if that goddamn shirt is fucking horrendous.”

“Yeah, man,” Melissa said, pinching her face in disgust. “I don’t know why you thought that would be a good idea. Like, what was the thought process there? I’d really like to know.”

Ted looked down at his shirt, touching his chest defensively before looking back up at the girls. “I’ll have to know that my  _ mom _ gave me this--”

“Your mom?” Emma blurted out, doubling over laughing.

“So bad taste is genetic now?” Melissa chimed in, high fiving a still bent over Emma.

“Okay, fine. Make fun of my mom now, why dontcha? You asswipes,” he grumbled, continuing to sip at his drink. Emma couldn’t get it back together when she saw the abundance of pineapple pulp in his mustache. With the back of his hand, he roughly wiped the pulp off of his face. “I don’t know why I invite you fucking people over.”

Emma and Melissa were trying to catch their breath when the trio across the island caught her eye. Bill and Charlotte were holding Paul’s phone between them, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m sure your mom is a nice lady, Ted. Just because you’re an asshole doesn’t mean we need to make fun of her,” Melissa said, letting out the last of her laughter and overpowering what Bill was saying to Paul. Whatever it was, Paul just smiled and shrugged his shoulders as he responded.

“Oh, Paul!” Charlotte’s excited squeal managed to rise above the arguing between Melissa and Ted. “Goodness, that’s… that’s fantastic. I’m so excited for--”

“Oh,  _ heeeeyyy _ , Emma!” Melissa was shouting in her ear. She jumped in response and stared at her in utter confusion. “Don’t you think we should give Ted a break?”

“What?” she replied, still confused.

“What?” Ted repeated, equally as bewildered.

Melissa’s eyes darted around, trying to come up with something to say. “He’s… um… trying to be… um… a better person, and  _ I think we should try to give him not as hard of a time! _ ” she all but screamed, startling Bill, Paul, and Charlotte as Paul slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Uh… just kidding! Oh jeez, I’m just… drunk I guess?”

“Melissa, you’ve had one drink,” Ted pointed out.

“You’re absolutely right, Teddy boy,” Emma agreed, leaning in to Melissa and speaking lowly. “I can’t believe you’re in on whatever the fuck this is. I’m going to get you and Paul so fucking smashed that you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s a surprise, Emma,” Melissa hissed at her.

“You were my friend first.”

“I’ve known him longer technically.”

Emma shook her head in disbelief. “This is fucking… treason.” She turned around to glare at Paul who was standing there with his hands up defensively. Her first two fingers pointed at her eyes and then back to him in the universal ‘I’m watching you, motherfucker’ sort of way. Behind her, she found Melissa smiling and giving Paul a thumbs up. She reached out to pull her hand down. “Don’t do that. I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” Ted cut in, grabbing both of their glasses to fill them back up with punch. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” He placed a glass in each of their hands. “But I’m going to give you both some get along juice, so you stop being so fucking weird. Paul, is this your fucking fault?” he shouted across the room.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t know.”

“Stop ruining my party, you fucking noodle!”

“Yeah, you fucking noodle,” Emma joined in. “Stop ruining the fucking party.” She stuck her middle finger up at him.

“Paul, your girlfriend is cooler than you,” Ted decided, jumping onto the middle finger bandwagon. Emma glanced up at him and held out her glass to cheers with him. He happily obliged. “Fucking yeah, look at that. Team mean. You motherfuckers are fucking  _ toast _ .”

“Yeah maybe we would be if you weren’t toasted already,” Paul shot back. If she wasn’t wanting to know what was going on so badly, she would have been impressed. But as it was, she was desperate enough to team up with Ted. “Both of you.” Ted and Emma looked at each other. Both red in the face. They had been pacing each other badly and had dipped into the party punch in a serious way.

At some point, Melissa had slipped away from them and was now hiding behind Charlotte, whispering something in her ear. Charlotte’s response was her mouth forming a big ‘O’ and looking right at Emma. “You’re a coward, Mel!” she shouted, a little loudly considering the distance between them. “Come face me like a man!”

“Have another drink first! Then I’ll try!”

“Pfft.” She turned around to face Ted again who was standing there with his mouth hanging open slightly. “They’re keep secrets from me, and I think it’s really fucking stupid.”

“And you have no idea?” he replied, surprisingly civil. “Paul’s not exactly the surprise type.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying! Yet here he is telling everyone except for me--”

“And me!”

“And you. I don’t fucking get it.”

“Maybe he’s buying you a pony,” he offered. A long glug of drink flowed down his throat. 

“Can you imagine him with a pony? The hair alone would send him into a frenzy. Not to mention the shit.”

“Okay, right. Maybe it’s a surprise birthday party!”

“Aren’t you offended that you weren’t invited?”

“Hey! Yeah!”

She drained the entire drink in her glass, slamming it down on the counter when she was done. “Secrets. Secrets are no fun. Unless you share with--”

“Ted!”

Slapping her forehead with her palm, she groaned to herself. “How did I end up stuck with you?”

“Because we’re the only ones who don’t know what’s happening?” he offered. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Emma, I think they’re going to kill us and eat us.”

She narrowed her eyes and then smacked the back of his head. “What the hell is wrong with you. Clearly, Bill and Paul would be the best ones to eat. Look at us. Skin and bone.”

It went on like that for a good while. Ted and Emma discussing different reasons for the rest of the group to be keeping them out of a secret that Paul was planning. They ruled out most party ideas, although they were both interested in the hypothetical bounce house party idea they had drummed up. A musical outing came up and was thrown out the window almost immediately. Ted threw out that maybe Paul was buying them a new house, but she knew better. He loved that stupid little house. It would take a lot more than a whim to move him out of there. 

She wouldn’t tell Ted or even Melissa, but she was bothered that Paul was keeping things from her. It felt hypocritical of her to feel that way because she was always keeping how she felt or even things she was planning to do from him. Not anything serious. It was more like painting flowers all over the guest room wall or that she was upset that he sided with her brother-in-law on Thanksgiving. Nothing that they couldn’t sort out at some point. She wondered if it was the booze. Sober she might have rolled her eyes and given them all a hard time, but she was feeling left out and upset by it, which kind of made her want to vomit.

“Hey,” his voice behind her shook her from her thoughts and sent Ted running towards the group, mumbling something about not wanting to get hit by a stray bullet. She rolled her eyes as the giant child cowered behind Charlotte who was happily chattering away with Melissa. Turning to face Paul, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh my god, cut the shit,” he laughed, pulling her arms down to her sides. She kept her face stern. “This is a little dramatic.”

“Why do they all know whatever the fuck you’re doing and  _ I _ don’t?” she asked in an accusatory manner.

“Because it’s for you, dummy,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. She allowed a small laugh at him pulling her names back on her. “And it’s really hard to keep secrets from you because you’re just like… all up in my shit.”

“You better believe it, you shithead,” she replied, trying to hide her smirk. It was dramatic now that she was thinking about it. A little ridiculous and quite frankly out of character. She was going to blame Ted’s pineapple party punch. It was the only logical answer.

“So yeah, it’s a secret that’s going to stay a secret for a while, but it’s going to be good… I think. I don’t actually know. We’ll see,” he blathered as if he was going through every possible scenario in his head. “Who knows?” He kissed her forehead, which elicited a loud groan from Ted across the room. “Now, I’ve got to kick your drunk ass in pong. You and Ted against me and Melissa.”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m gonna kick your ass into next week.”

“There she is.”


	22. Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul turns thirty-four. Emma gives the cat a cooking lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no virus. Still more fluff! Stay safe and well, my friends!

Emma wasn’t a very good birthday person.

She never knew what kind of gift to get or what to do for a person. Being sentimental and thoughtful wasn’t exactly her strong suit. It was easier when she didn’t have anyone’s birthday she had to remember. She even would message her sister a day or two after her birthday, claiming time difference confusion when she was realistically just hungover on the actual birthday.

Paul’s birthday was January 30th. The year before she hadn’t even known it was his birthday until Bill and Alice called and basically screamed at him over the phone. They had spent their Fridays separately. Both going to their respective jobs. She was pretty sure she had sent him a few gifs calling him a stupid nerd. She was also pretty sure she actually laughed out loud when he responded with a gif of Milhouse from the Simpsons looking ashamed and saying ‘But my mom thinks I’m cool.’

He got home first because she was still in the process of moving boxes slowly from her apartment to his house. Every night she would stop at the apartment and stuff a few things into her clunker before driving back across town to the house. That night she busted through the door with a black garbage bag full of clothes, grunting and groaning all the while. It had been a particularly terrible day at Beanies. Nora and Zooey would not hop off her ass and it seemed like every little thing she did was the worst thing she had ever done. The threat of termination had to have been thrown at her at least a dozen times throughout the day. And the customers were in rare form. Constantly testing her patience.

Anger seeped from her pores as she struggled through the door. That is until she smelled the takeout. “ _ Paul, you glorious son of a bitch _ ,” she moaned, dragging herself over to the table, where he was scrolling through his phone. A brown paper bag sat in front of him. “ _ Mama needs some lo mein in her life tonight _ .”

Alice and Bill called not too long after they began eating, and Paul’s face turned completely pink. Whether it was from embarrassment or surprise, she wasn’t positive. He was short with them and kept trying to get off the phone when they would just keep pressing him further. Asking about his birthday plans for the weekend. “ _ I told you, Bill. I try to keep it lowkey _ ,” he insisted, looking over at Emma to drive the point home.

“ _ Bill, I’m gonna take him on an all expenses paid trip to Disneyland _ .”

“ _ Emma… really? _ ”

“ _ Yes, Bill, with the lottery I just hit we will be hitting up Disneyland _ .”

She had warned Paul that this year Disneyland was definitely off the table even though she had more disposable income. Neither of them had any real wish to visit the magic kingdom anyway. It was so crowded and loud and people couldn’t control their kids. The Hatchetfield tree lighting ceremony was about all she could take as far as a large amount of children went. She also didn’t need to hug a guy in a Mickey Mouse costume that smelled suspiciously like B.O.

They were both home for his birthday this time, though, and she had tried to devise some sort of plan. Every single time she sat down to brainstorm, though, she came back with nothing. He wasn’t the party type or the big spontaneous romantic adventure type either. He didn’t really need any sort of big romantic gesture ever, which was something she liked about him. She loved her a low maintenance romantic of a man.

In the end, she decided she would make breakfast. A difficult thing to do because he was always up before her and the lightest sleeper she had ever met. Sliding out of bed was the most difficult part of her plan. She had to slip out just enough to not move the bed too much or rustle the blankets. It wasn’t even trying to make as little noise as possible that was giving her issues. The fact that she was up at the ass crack of dawn to make some nerd breakfast was really testing her gracefulness. Once out of bed, she peeked over the edge to find him still asleep, mouth slightly ajar still breathing evenly and steadily.

When she made it to the hallway, she gently pressed the door shut before turning to head to the stairs. But before she could go anywhere, she nearly tripped over Janis. “Jesus fucking Christ, Janis,” she hissed, scooping the cat up in her arms. “You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack or make me breake my leg, man. C’mon!” She carried Janis all the way down the stairs, smiling to herself as Janis purred happily.

She wasn’t used to getting up on a Saturday morning and not having him milling about downstairs. Getting home after work, yes. She returned home before him often. She would kick her shoes off and slide into the kitchen to drink some orange juice straight out of the bottle before he could come home and yell at her about it. Janis would demand a scratch on the chin and she would oblige. Upstairs her clothes would peel off of her and miraculously land in the hamper at the edge of the room. She would return downstairs and straighten her shoes before going for another swig of OJ only to groan internally when she heard the front door open mid swig.

But on this morning, she placed Janis on the counter beside the sink. “Alright, Jan, what do you think? Dad’s birthday breakfast,” she asked, not sure if she was really expecting an answer or not. They locked eyes as if trying to communicate through telepathy. She was pretty sure Janis just wanted breakfast, but it was more fun to think she was in on planning breakfast. “French toast? Just what I was thinking. Look at us. On the same fucking page. That’s my girl!” 

She crossed the kitchen to pull a fresh baked loaf of bread she had picked up from a bakery the day before and dropped it onto the counter. In the cabinet above the stove, she reached for the cutting board, pushing herself up on her palm to get a little extra height. She placed the wood slab onto the countertop and then pressed the start button on the coffee maker. “I don’t get why he can’t just move shit into lower cabinets,” she complained. Janis meowed in response. “See? You get it.”

Pulling the bread knife from the knife block, she laid the bread on top of the cutting board and began slicing the loaf into thick slices. “Oh fuck!” she grumbled, reaching out to preheat the oven. “Janis, you listen to me now.” From the drawer below the oven, she pulled out a cookie sheet and then pushed the drawer closed with her foot. “There is only one way to make French toast. Janis, are you listening?” She looked over at the cat who was watching her attentively, tail flicking back and forth. The cabinet beside the sink held parchment paper which she pulled out and cut a sheet that was just long enough to cover the pan. “Well, first of all, you fucking always put down parchment paper. Way less clean up, but then you put the bread in the oven. Make it all stale and shit.”

She laid the slices of bread out across the pan, organizing them in such a way that the whole loaf fit onto the sheet. Satisfied, she opened the over and set the pan into the heat to toast up just slightly. “And Janis, don’t let anyone tell you that French toast is just fucking bread with egg,” she scoffed as she moved to the fridge. Opening the door, she pulled the milk, butter, and eggs out. After she nudged the door closed with her hip, she put her ingredients down beside the stove. “Fuck.” She opened the fridge again and pulled out strawberries and blueberries. “Listen, Janis, we’re going balls to the fucking walls today.”

Throwing the berries into a colander, she splashed water over them and tossed them around with the hand that wasn’t holding the colander’s handle. She always liked fruit with breakfast. In Guatemala, she often indulged in raspberries and mangoes with her breakfast. Sometimes that would be all she would have for breakfast before trekking out for the day. The fruit was sweeter there. Richer even. Some days she would stop in the middle of her day and unwrap a cloth filled with rambutans. She’d spend a quiet moment in the shade of a tree peeling the little urchin-esque fruits with a pocket knife, relishing the juicy sweet flavor of the flesh inside.

Despite her initial instinct, she didn’t tap the colander against the corner of the counter to get out excess liquid. “Good call, Janis,” she commended, resting the berries to continue draining in the drying rack. She pulled the bread out of the oven, using a dish towel as an oven mitt. No browning. Just crisp enough to make it more absorbent. “Almost forgot about the bread.”

The strawberries were easy work for her. She methodically pulled the stems off using the paring knife. Her thumb pressed against the leaves as she pulled the knife just into the flesh enough to pull as little as possible off with the green. It was a repetitive process. Almost therapeutic. Pull. Pull. Pull. Until each strawberry was free of leaves. Then she went to slicing them into halves and the larger ones into quarters. “Easier to eat,” she explained to the cat. “Better than trying to chomp down on a whole strawberry.”

In the glass bowl she chose, the berries melded together with gravity and bled a purple juice that pooled at the bottom. She left the bowl on the counter before she grabbed a second bowl, this one larger and wider, and cracked three eggs into it. Looking between the bowl and the egg carton, she squinted as if that would help her decision making. “One more, do you think?” she muttered. Janis mewed. “You’re fucking right again. Better to have too much.” She cracked a fourth egg, placing the shells back into the empty slots in the carton. It was a habit that drove him nuts, but she continued doing it anyway. Because it was a free country and she threw them out later anyway, so what did it really matter?

A glug of milk. A splash of vanilla. A generous smattering of cinnamon. A pinch of nutmeg. A heaping spoonful or two of powdered sugar. “The secret is bourbon,” she whispered to Janis, who was licking her paw. “Are you getting this shit, Janis? It’s the key to world peace. I’m fucking telling you.” From the cabinet where she kept their liquor (her liquor really), she pulled out a half full bottle of Clyde May’s and dumped a shot (or two) into the egg mixture. Tossing the spoon into the sink, she grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer to whisk the eggs and friends into one cohesive goo.

She had insisted on keeping her cast iron pan in the kitchen when she moved in. All he had was teflon and sadness, which just wasn’t going to cut it for her. Especially considering he had a gas range. Flames licked the bottom of the iron pan as she stacked the bread neatly onto a large plate. “This is where the magic happens, Janis,” she stated, dropping a knob of butter into the pan. “Not in the bedroom. That’s a fucking lie. Magic happens in the French toast pan.”

The actual cooking of the French toast was another systematic process. Place bread in egg. Cover breath thoroughly. Put bread in buttered pan. Flip bread when the bottom has begun to form a golden crust. Repeat for opposite side. Remove from pan. Repeat for remaining slices until complete. She stacked the finished pieces of toast onto the plate, which she placed in the still warm oven to keep warm until she was prepared to serve.

She pulled the plate out for the final time, using the dish towel again as her oven mitt, and placed the final two slices of French toast onto the plate. “Alright, Janis, let’s make this shit happen,” she said, feeling a small bubble of excitement rising in her gut. This must have been why people did things for birthdays. She was looking forward to seeing his reaction to a full out breakfast all set for him. Even the coffee was finished.

“Morning.”

The plate almost dropped from her hands when she jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned around slowly, as not to have the French toast go flying. “What in the everloving  _ fuck _ are you doing up?” she demanded. There was no way she was going to acknowledge that the messy hair, glasses, pajama pants look was working for him. Mostly because of the goofy smile he had on, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. He was supposed to still be asleep.

“I don’t know… it’s almost eight thirty. I slept in a little bit today,” he replied, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. For the new year, she was able to convince him to hit the gym a little more. He had fallen into a comfortable pattern. Dropping by at least four times a week. And realistically, she knew it was too soon to be seeing results, but she felt like his arms were looking pretty nice. “You made breakfast.”

“Yeah, it’s your birthday, dorkass,” she huffed, putting the plate back down on the counter. “I was going to get everything all together, and  _ then _ you were supposed to get up. And it would be all… fucking…  _ taa daa _ !” She threw some jazz hands up for effect. “I did all this shit and everything.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “I was really enjoying the cooking lesson you were giving Janis.” On cue, he reached over and ran a hand down the length of her body. “But it smelled really good. And… I’m hungry.”

Begrudgingly, she grabbed two plates and they assembled their French toast separately. Although, she did manage to force her way in on him to sprinkle powdered sugar on top of his toast once he had drowned it in syrup. He smiled and muttered a thank you before turning to leave the kitchen. A pinch grabbed at his butt as he did. He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Nice ass, birthday boy,” she quipped, keeping a straight face. With a roll of his eyes, he continued out into the dining room.

They ate in silence for the most part, save for the occasional praises he gave her on the French toast. “The best I’ve ever had, I think,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“Stop trying to kiss my ass, Matthews.”

“I mean… no. But back on the French toast, this is so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Bourbon is the key to world peace after all.”

She groaned, leaning back into her chair as she dropped a strawberry into her mouth. “That was only meant for Janis. She really wanted to get her shit together with French toast making.” He only hummed in response, mouth filled with French toast and fruit. Still leaning back, she watched him and couldn’t suppress her laugh while he shoveled food into his mouth. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“What? It’s  _ good _ .”

“Yeah,  _ okay _ .”

“Can’t wait to see how you top it next year.”

“I’ll just be the french toast next year. All syrup and eggs in bed. Mmm. And then you can--”

“Fucking gross. We’ll just skip my birthday next year.”

“Okay,” she offered. “Hear me out. We  _ skip _ breakfast next year and just stay in bed all fucking day.”

He smirked, though it was a little distorted by the mouthful of food. “Sounds more like your birthday than mine,” he retorted.

“Ayyy, you got me,” she agreed, winking. The finger guns made an appearance, shooting directly at him. “But there’s no rule that says we can’t do it for your birthday, too.”

“Oh, we can do it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wow, thirty-four and fucking foward now,” she laughed. “Well, alright then I’ll see you up there.” Bouncing from the table, she ran up the stairs. Her plate was still sitting at the table, but he decided he would just leave it there after finishing his food. Munching on the last bite, he smiled to himself.

He could handle if all the rest of his birthdays were like this one.

He hoped they would be.


	23. Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma keeps having dreams with Paul in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry for no update yesterday! I was having a mild mental breakdown over the virus, but we are all good now! I have funneled my bad feelings into fluffy stuff!
> 
> Enjoy and please stay safe and well!
> 
> P.S. A lot of this was really inspired by listening to Million Lives by John Adams. It is *chef kiss* and feels inducing.

Emma kept having this dream.

It wasn’t a bad dream, per se. Just odd.

She had dreams where they were both in them. She and Paul, that is. But they felt very real. Every single one of them. Not real like those dreams where you get startled awake after being chased by a murderer or getting up in front of the whole school in your underwear. Those were just moments of waking up and realizing it was all just a dream.

This dream… all the dreams with him weren’t like that.

They all seemed so much like real life. Like she had rolled out of bed and straight into her life. But it wasn’t her life. It wasn’t anything like her life. Things were always different. Locations. Situations. People. Animals even. Each dream had one part that was a constant. Only one static variable.

Paul.

For a long time, she couldn’t remember her dreams. She liked to describe it as the ‘dreamless sleep of the dead’, which always bothered her sister, but it was the best comparison she could draw. It was a few hours of darkness behind her eyelids. A few hours where she didn’t have to give a shit about anyone or anything. There was no Jane. No Beanies. No mom and dad. No college. No Guatemala. No nothing. She looked forward to it each night.

Since she met him, though, she began to remember her dreams. Not every night, but often enough that she could remember it happening. It started out as only here and there. Then it would be maybe once a week. Eventually, it got to the point where she would have the same dream days in a row. Like she was watching the same movie night in and night out. 

Most of the time, it was just mundane shit.

They could be back at Beanies. He would walk in and stand behind a guy who tipped her, but only for a song. Probably to be an asshole. The man got angry and stormed out of the shop, declaring he would never come back. Nora would appear and threaten her with being fired, but she needed that job. She caved every time. Even when she actually got fired in real life. 

Then there he was. A big tall doofus in a suit, smiling hopefully at her. Although when she thought about it, he was probably smiling to try to be friendly after her less than civil interaction with the tip guy. He asked for an easy one: just a black coffee. They talked a little. Just chit chat. They didn’t know each other outside of the retail realm. It felt exciting. Even though the reality was she knew him, it was still exciting. 

She knew him so well. How he couldn’t let the house go a full week without dusting. How he liked to cut the crusts off of his sandwiches. How he would just look at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. So many little idiosyncrasies that would otherwise go unnoticed. Things that weren’t pointed out to her. She had just noticed them quietly through her own observations.

By the end of the dream, they would introduce themselves to one another. He would leave with that stupid smile he always had on his face whenever she said something clever that he couldn’t help but appreciate. The bell on the door would jingle, and then the rain started just as her alarm would pull her from the dream.

In another, they were sitting on her brother-in-law’s couch. The morning was still early, the sky barely light. She was still in her hat and jacket. Paul wore a red sweater. It must have been close to Christmas. Tim sat between them, shuffling through a pile of DVDs and video games. She felt anxiety and anger rushing around in her stomach. Tom wasn’t there. She couldn’t remember where he had gone, which made sense as she just popped in during the middle of a dream.

Occasionally, she looked from Tim to Paul, who was watching the boy intently. Like he was really sitting with anticipation as to what he was going to pick out for their first movie. His eyebrows were raised and he was smiling, saying something to Tim, who rolled his eyes in response. She let out a chuckle despite herself, and Paul’s eyes caught hers. 

Same old eyes. Tried and true blue. Big saucers filled with nothing but affection. Maybe that wasn’t true. Something else lingered behind them. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It was almost like he was trying to say something with his eyes. Trying to communicate something with her that he couldn’t say with words. Maybe it was longing? Maybe it was disappointment.

She never got to decipher it or even ask him before the TV blared some breaking report about some sort of pandemonium at the Lakeside Mall.

The most recent dream, though, took her back to the lake house they rented.

She initially assumed that she was back at the lake because it was the most at peace she felt in her whole life. Work was crazy. Everyday was spent late trying to tie a bow on a countywide agricultural biodiversity project. She was stressed beyond belief. They had given her full run on working with the marketing department on how to promote the project without compromising the overall message of the project itself. There were a lot of wrinkles to iron out with it, and the whole thing just seemed endless. A nice long weekend at that house would have been a godsend. 

Every time, she started out in the big open bedroom. Filled with light. It was warm whenever she awoke there, just like in real life. But she was still in their bed. A queen with a simple black wooden frame. Piled high in pillows and a down comforter. It was familiar and wonderful with the combination of the tranquility the house brought. She felt at ease every wake up. Even when she would eventually drag herself out of bed, everything felt okay. She was in just one of his old t-shirts she would have brought with them just for the purpose of sleeping. She trudged down the stairs and could hear the TV softly playing. When she hit the bottom of the stairs, it was the same open floor. Open from the front door to the sliding glass door in the back that looked out onto the lake. He was on the couch, sprawled out across its length.

But he wasn’t alone.

A little girl with caramel ringlets of hair that draped over his chest. She was small and tanned, presumably from playing out by the lake. All she wore was a Pull-Up as she laid completely spread out on his chest. As if she had belly flopped onto him and just stayed there. One little arm pointed out to something on the TV, and he smiled brightly, humming something in response and peering down at her through his glasses. His hand rubbed up and down the girl’s back gently, comfortingly. He was wearing a ring. Paul did not wear rings.

Emma looked down at her own hands to find her own set of rings.

What kind of  _ domestic asshattery _ ?

“Oh good, you’re up.”

Startled, she looked up from her hands to the long oak table that sat closer to the kitchen.

Jane.

This was not part of the normal dream.

Normally, she would scoot herself on a sliver of couch beside him. He would grin at her. At his temples, his hair was just barely starting to go grey. She made sure to remind him he was getting fucking old. The little girl would reach out and grab her arm. When she looked down at her, her heart would flutter at the big blue saucers that would stare back at her. She brushed some curls out of her face. And then she would wake up.

At no point was Jane ever there.

“Come, sit.”

Emma had no choice but to oblige. She chose not to listen to Jane for so much of her life that she felt like she owed it to her older sister. Taking the seat beside Jane, Emma stared at her dead sister. She was sitting there plain as day. Pretty as a picture. Actually she looked a lot like the more recent pictures Tom still had hanging around their home. Different than Emma remembered. Tired. A little duller in the eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too, peanut,” Jane teased, reaching out to pinch Emma’s cheek. It felt very terribly real. Normally she would argue against being called peanut because she resented the nickname, but everything was very jarring in that moment. “Got a lot of questions, huh?”

“Well… yeah, but mostly what the fuck?”

“I guess that’s pretty fair, but your mouth is way worse than I remember it being. Holy cow.”

“Of course it sounds bad to someone who says ‘ _ holy cow _ ’. What are we? Ten?” She took a moment to pause and think about her current situation. Sitting across the table from her sister. Now full grown adults. Just poking fun. So many times she thought about what she wanted to say to Jane. If she just had one more moment. One last day. Yet here she was, making jabs at her. Typical.

“Well, there is a child in the room.”

Emma had almost forgotten about the girl and Paul, laid out on the couch. They continued watching whatever had been playing on the TV. Almost like the two women at the table weren’t even there. She could hear tiny giggles and whispers, and then Paul would laugh before shushing the girl. “Yeah, what the fuck?” was all she could utter.

“This is just an option for you,” Jane explained as if that was an acceptable answer to the question.

“Okay I don’t appreciate all this weird shit,” Emma groaned. “What in god’s name does  _ that _ fucking mean.”

“We’ve all got options,” Jane began, leaning back in her chair. Her hair was darker and curlier than Emma’s. She looked more like their mother. Softer and darker. Her eyes were the color of something deep and buried in the forest. Deep brown, but they would shine with a green tint in some lights. She was also taller than Emma. Marginally, only making it to a whole 5’4”, but Jane still liked to hold it over her head. When she thought about it, the two of them didn’t even look like they should be sisters. Not even cousins. Then she smiled and Emma remembered: ah yes, Dad’s teeth and thin little bird lips. “Different paths to go down.  _ This _ is an option.”

For a moment, she almost considered it. Peaceful. Light. Things felt… calm in this place. Like puzzle pieces had all fallen correctly into their spots. It also made her squirm. It wasn’t anything she had ever wanted. She didn’t want children. She even had her misgivings on marriage. Also having a child closer to forty didn’t really fit into any agenda she had because she wasn’t going to be ready to have one any time soon. 

“You don’t have to take it, you know?” Jane piped up as if she could read her thoughts. “It’s a dream, kiddo. I can do anything here.”

“Can you shove your whole fist into your mouth?”

“ _ Why _ would I do that?”

“...because you can do anything here?”

Jane shook her head, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “There are infinite options and roads. Everything is constantly moving and changing and happening all at once. While this exists, there’s also a time where it doesn’t.”

“This is some real Ray Bradbury shit going on here.”

“He never wrote about alternate realities.”

“There are fucking alternate realities?”

“Jesus, Emma.”

“I’m just busting your balls, but I don’t think--”

“Listen,” she said, resting her hand on Emma’s. She could have sworn that the touch felt like it really happened. Soft and warm. “Things are constantly changing and shifting. Not many things stay constant. Time is a very delicate thread that holds everything together. It’s always moving with us, forming around our choices.  _ This _ is just one of those choices.”

Paul rose from the couch, propping the girl up with his forearm while he walked toward the kitchen. He was talking to her, but Emma couldn’t hear what he was saying. What she could tell was when the little girl pinched her face in and giggled she swore she thought she saw her nose on the girl. Paul beamed at her and pressed a big kiss onto her cheek, making her burst into another laughing fit. 

In that moment, she felt guilty. If this was truly what Jane told her it was, she couldn’t deny how happy he was. Glowing. Beaming. Any sort of light related adjective she could have given him. He looked at that little girl like she was showing him the world on a string. His dorky and gentle demeanor suited him for that job. ‘ _ Daddy’ _ she saw the little girl say through her laughs.

She just didn’t know it was what she wanted.

“This isn’t the only way things are happy, Em,” Jane whispered, squeezing her hand. “Things are happy now. You said it yourself.”

Looking down at their hands, she nodded. “I did  _ say  _ that, huh?”

“‘Like, really happy’ I think were your exact words.”

Emma looked up at Jane, staring right into her dead sister’s eyes. Wishing with all her heart that this could just be reality. She’d learn to deal with the domestic commitments. Jane would be there, so things would be easier. They always were. “Do I get an option with you in it?” she asked hopefully.

Jane smiled sadly, reaching out with her other hand to cup Emma’s cheek. “Not this time, pea,” she whispered. “Sometimes, you come back, and we get to bug each other until we live across the hall from each other in the nursing home.” Emma laughed despite the lump forming in her throat. “But not this time.”

With that, both hands released her, and Jane rose from the table. “But… J, please don’t go,” she pleaded. “I just… I need a little more time. I have so many--”

Walking towards the front door, Jane peered over her shoulder. “Emma, I already know, and you know I’d always forgive you,” she told her with another sad smile. “And for what it’s worth, I do like him. The cat was almost a deal breaker, but I guess it’s fine.”

A chuckle left Emma regardless of the tears pricking her eyes. “She’s a pretty cool cat.”

“Pfft,” Jane scoffed. “No such thing.” She continued walking towards the door, stopping to watch Paul and the little girl in the kitchen. He was smearing cream cheese onto half of a bagel while the girl was already eating the other half with cream cheese topping her nose. “Emma, I’m proud of you. For everything. Not just this. I mean,  _ this _ is quite a change… but you’re building a life for yourself. And you kicked ass in school like I knew you could.”

“Jane, language!” Emma managed to choke out, forcing a smile.

“Take care of yourself, Em. I love you.”

When she opened her eyes, she was back in her own bed, tears soaking her pillow. She blinked a few times to try to get her bearings. It was their grey-blue room. Shades covered the windows, so she could try to sleep in a bit on a Saturday. He was normally up and at ‘em, but when she turned over, he was still there, blankets pulled up over his shoulders and up to his nose. 

She looked at him, wondering what that dream meant. If it meant anything. She could have just been having a dream. She probably was, so why did it feel like she was in the dream now, waiting to wake up and go to another life? One of his eyes slid open. “Morning,” he grumbled, shutting it again so he could squeeze both eyes shut. They both then sprung open, still filled with sleep. “What’re you looking at?”

“You,” was all she said, softly. Softer than she had expected. Certainly softer than she would have usually spoken. Especially that soon after getting up.

He furrowed his brows. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, nuzzling against her pillow. “Had a weird fucking dream, though.”

“What kind of weird? Stand up in front of the school in your underwear naked weird? Or having drinks with a dancing coyote weird?”

“What the fuck, Paul?” she laughed, pulling her from her soft feelings. “Are you okay?”

He pulled the blankets up to just below his eyes. “No,” was his only response.

Blinking at him, she took a moment to decipher his reply. “Do you need some help?” she offered, arching a brow. She could see in his eyes that he was smiling underneath the covers. “Can’t have you dying on me, kid. Need me to resuscitate you?”

“Yeah, I need some serious mouth-to-mouth otherwise I think I  _ will _ die.”

“You’re an ass.”

Although he was an ass, she still found herself between him and the blankets. With her mouth on his. His hands on her waist. And also maybe  _ her _ ass. She liked the way things were with him. All of the things. Well,  _ this _ especially. As she kissed him full on his mouth, she thought about how it would be to kiss that mouth ten years down the line. Fifteen. Twenty. Every year she went through in her head. He was the constant. An anchor in her timeline.

Then his weird shady behavior hit her.

“Oh my god!” she shouted, jolting up. “ _ Oh my god!” _

His eyes were wide, hands still on her waist. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice a little frantic.

She leaned back down and rested one hand on his chest, still straddling his hips. “I know  _ your fucking secret _ ,” she murmured, nose-to-nose with him. His eyes were still wide, almost as if to insinuate that he didn’t know what she was talking about. “You're going to pr--”

Hand on the back of her head, he pulled her into another kiss and stopped her words dead in their tracks. She continued to mumble things into his mouth and onto his lips. “Emma,” he grunted, knocking his forehead against her. “Please, just let me have this one.”

Unsure if he meant the morning or the proposal, she stared at him for a moment. These eyes, unlike red sweater Paul, were content, albeit a little frustrated from her tomfoolery. She wasn’t sure about those times, but she was pretty sure she was in the prime timeline. “Okay,” she whispered, dipping back in to find his lips again.

She’d let him have both.


	24. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma go to Ikea to look for a bookshelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's quarantine is going well if you're quarantined. I myself am pretty stoked because I didn't get laid off today, so here, have some fluff!

They would usually run errands on Saturdays, some time after Emma woke up and actually was able to handle being around people. That was fine by Paul. He and Janis didn’t mind having some time in the morning to just relax downstairs, trying to catch up on books. It seemed like he just kept accumulating books but couldn’t catch up with reading them. Saturday mornings were good for that.

Most weekends, it was a simple itinerary: groceries. Enough for the week. Anything else they wanted one of them would have to pick it up on their way home from work. But more often than not, they were able to bang it out in one trip. As it turned out, she was a very efficient list maker. Every list was very thorough and well thought out. Clear. Concise. It was a trait he never expected to come from her.

Grocery store trips were an event with her. She loved to go grocery shopping. An odd thing to like, he noted frequently. There was something that made her happy about going and rifling through all the produce to use for the week. Trying to connect the dots for recipes in her head. Usually grabbing a case or two of beer at some point during the trip. They always left with a very colorful cartful of groceries, fresh food and some junk alike. 

She liked to ride the cart through the parking lot on the way back to the car. Ducking to get a good running push, she jolted the cart forward before hopping onto the ledge below. He followed in a more hurried pace in an attempt to catch up to the freight train that was the shopping cart. Oh, but the smile on his face every time was telling. Even when he was shaking his head and complaining once he caught up to her, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Especially when she called shotgun because she got to the car first. He drove them there, but she liked to call it anyway.

However, on this particular Saturday, they were going to have to forego the grocery store because his book collection was getting out of hand. It was time for a trip to Ikea, which she was not looking forward to. “It’s set up like a job fair for furniture,” she grumbled as they started out from the car to the store. “And there are so many fucking people here.”

But they carried on regardless of her dislike of the store. She wasn’t wrong either. There were plenty of people milling about the store with their carts and baskets. He was going to just continue into the store without anything under the assumption that he might not even find anything, but she pulled up next to him with her own cart. “Oh, if I’m going to be here, we’re going to decorate the shit out of that house,” she huffed, thrusting the cart forward into the store.

They found themselves milling about various displays with baskets and knick knack dust collecting decor. Most of it, she just found there would be no use for the items, but one in particular seems to really be grinding her gears. “I’m sorry, but what fucking scam are we running that  _ this  _ fucking this costs thirty bucks?” she demanded, exasperatedly gesturing at a basket that was more hole than it was basket. “What the fuck can you even hold in there? This is a rip off!”

“I think it’s just decorative,” he tried, flipping around the tag in his hand. It was a steep price for a decorative basket. He would give her that, but it was nothing to get annoyed about. She did like to pick fights. If for nothing else, he was glad she was choosing to fight the basket and not him. “But also mostly useless.”

“Exactly, it’s just fucking dumb.” 

The thing about this store was that time became a complete illusion. There was no way to tell how long they might have been in there or how deep they had gone. He still hadn’t found a bookshelf that he liked enough. Every time he thought about saying he would just donate some of the books, she was being drawn towards another display, ogling the way the fake rooms were set up. Couches. Lamps. Bowls. Mirrors. Beds. Dressers. She would comment here or there about how she liked the way some things were set up or how she loved that chair. He was mildly amused at the fact that she was so against even coming, but now she was the one holding them up.

It wasn’t until they arrived at a kitchen that she really became entranced. “Oh my god,” she muttered, ditching the cart next to him and hurrying into the kitchen display. She stood behind an island topped with black marble. It held a two bowl sink with fake fruits and vegetables inside. Her hands hovered over the marble on either side of the sink. “I fucking want this.”

He tilted his head to the side. “The sink?” he questioned, unsure of what she was referring to. It was Ikea. There were a lot of things ‘this’ could be.

“No, you ding dong,” she scolded. Her hands then raised into the air and waved her hands around to show she meant all around her. “I want this fucking kitchen. I mean, look at it!” She wasn’t wrong. The kitchen was pretty nice. With cabinets painted a deep emerald green, she fiddled with the golden handles on the drawers, staring about in wonder. “Look at this. It’s amazing. There’s so much space and the cabinets… that color!”

The kitchen was hard to place in their house. It had plenty of counter and cabinet space and the island and hood over the stove were pretty nice. But it just wouldn’t fit in the small house. It would take up half the downstairs area alone. He had to admit, though, it was a beautiful set up. He could even picture where Janis would perch herself at the end of the island, so she could keep a watchful eye on everything going on. Monitor her people.

Leaving the small house had never occurred to him. He had been content with living in the same house for the foreseeable future. It was familiar. He liked his house and the habits he formed there. The routines he had fallen into. Staying was just so easy. Plus it wasn’t far from his job, and it had been convenient. He wasn’t sure that convenience or comfort just for the sake of it were really priorities anymore, though.

For god’s sake, he’d been carrying a ring around in his pocket everywhere he went for the past four months. Nothing was comfortable. He was usually on edge, trying to find a perfect moment, but something always got in the way. Nine out of ten times, that thing was him.

“I don’t think it would fit in our house,” he commented, appraising the size of the display room. “It’s a little big for what we’ve got.”

“Just let a girl dream, Paul.”

He never ended up picking out a bookshelf, although she did pick up a dry food container for Janis’s cat food and a set of hooks to mount on the wall by the front door for their coats. Not quite as much decorating as she had been hoping, but she couldn’t justify spending thirty dollars on a basket. He also felt like the employees would be suspicious if they spent so much time there and didn’t buy anything. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the items they ended up leaving with.

As they trucked back to the car, they talked quietly about what they were going to do with all those books. To be fair, it was stressing him out more than it was her. She just wanted to get a plan together, so he’d get onto another thing. He was fixating, and that made her want to curve him away from whatever he was fixating on. They both decided it was best to box up the old books and donate them.

She tossed the bag into the back seat and plopped into the passenger seat, much to her chagrin as she always wanted to drive. The parking lot was packed, and backing out of his spot was proving to be a more difficult task than initially expected. Two SUVs had parked on either side of him, making it impossible to see. Other cars just kept flying through the parking lot. “I hate this store,” he mumbled to himself, turned around to attempt to back out.

“I fucking  _ told _ you!”

Eventually, he was able to make it out of the parking spot and back onto the road so they could head home. Home. It was a funny word. In one sense, a home was just a permanent living space. Sterile. Logical. But there was some sentimental piece of his heart that just kept growing that he couldn’t shake. A stupid cliche piece of his heart.

Winding down back roads, music was playing softly over the speakers. Jane by Jefferson Starship. She was humming along and staring out her window, tapping her foot to the beat.  _ This was home _ . “Emma?” he uttered, breaking her from her mindless humming.

“Yeah?”

“Do you… um…” He knew what he was trying to ask, but he couldn’t find the words. The thought of change was twisting up in his throat and swallowing his words. “I… did you maybe… shit.” He pulled up to a stoplight and rapped his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing back and forth in place of pacing.

“I swear to god, Paul. If you’re asking me to--”

“Did you want to move?”

She furrowed her brow. “Move… where?”

“I don’t know. Another house. You want to leave Hatchetfield.”

“But you love that house,” she pointed out. He wasn’t so sure love was the right word. He did really like the house. It was good and it treated him well. But love was never the feeling he would have given it. “You love it  _ here _ .”

“No… well, yes, sort of. I like Hatchetfield, and I like the house,” he corrected, hitting the gas when the light turned green again. “I love you, and  _ you _ seemed really… I don’t know… excited about that kitchen. And it just doesn’t fit in our house now, but we could find a new place.”

“Paul, that’s really okay,” she assured him. “I don’t need a fancy fucking kitchen. It’s a nice dream, but not anything that’s necessary.” She was using her serious voice with him. When the f-bombs stopped flying, that’s when he knew she was trying to be real and gentle with him. “We don’t have--”

“I know we don’t have to do anything. What do you  _ want _ , Emma?” he asked, voice still remaining light. “It seemed like you really wanted something like that kitchen earlier, and we could just look. Go to an open house somewhere. Y’know, check shit out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her fighting back a smile. “Okay, maybe we could do that,” she responded. “But it’s not something that I need happening. If you’re fucking uncomfortable and just pushing shit to try to yes man me, I will fucking kick your ass.”

“Maybe I’ll crawl on top of the fridge so you can’t reach me.”

“You think all your fucking limbs are going to fit on top of that fridge. Pfft, please.”

“I’ll just cut my left leg off first.”

“Then we can freeze it to eat later.”

“...no...Emma, no.”

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t believe the woman he was certain he was going to marry someday in the not so distant future was a fucking weirdo. Glancing at her, he could see her laughing at her own stupid and demented jokes. That laugh didn’t get old. He wished he could tell eighteen year old Paul, who was shipping off to college and had never been kissed, where he was now because that awkward, lanky eighteen year old boy would flip his fucking shit.


	25. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma eat Chinese food on the floor and do some things in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry for the couple day delay in updating. I spent the weekend with my partner and his parents getting very drunk and playing card games to distract from our state potentially being quarantined by the president.
> 
> Hopefully the wait was worth it. We shall see!

The house they settled on was red.

Its siding and white shutters and door made it look like it was some sort of barn someone flipped and placed onto the shore of Chestnut Pond. There was a wraparound porch that went around the entire perimeter of the house. Walking inside, it was not bright and open like the house in Vermont. It was cozy with just enough light pouring through the windows to give it a warm glow. The entirety of the house, save for the bathrooms--all  _ three _ of them!--was floored with white oak. 

There were some nicks and scratches in places, giving the house character. A family of five had been living there when Paul and Emma wandered through. As they toured around the house, he caught her noticing the few items out that painted a picture of the current family. A test with a smiley face sticker on the front hung up on the fridge. A homemade Mother’s Day card set out on the dining room table. A wedding portrait on one of the nightstands in the master bedroom. He smiled each time he caught her and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Their house sold fairly quickly. It was close to Uptown and located in a very quiet neighborhood. Close enough to town for delivery, but far enough to not be bothered by loud traffic or sirens in the middle of the night. Plus, he had always taken good care of his home. Had the septic pumped every three or four years and checked every year on the nose. Kept and eye out for any electrical or plumbing issues that would arise. The carpet was vacuumed every week and the hardwood was cleaned with a special cleanser every month. And they took their shoes off upon entering the house nine out of ten times. It was in nice shape and was snatched up by a young, newly married couple and their infant son.

Handing over his keys on the day of their closing felt bittersweet. He loved that little house. It was his first house. The first place he really lived after college that wasn’t his parent’s house, a shoebox sized apartment, or Bill’s couch. It was his first real leap into adulthood. He could remember when he was the one who was receiving those keys. How excited he was even though he didn’t have any furniture and had to eat takeout on a foldable card table for three months. He went out and adopted Janis a week later because he could. He and Janis and lived in that house for the better part of a decade, but that chapter was closing.

Then later that day, she led the charge into the new house, shoving the new key on her key ring into the front door (which didn’t crunch like it was filled with sand). Both of their cars comfortably fit in the driveway, which was a long gravel path that curved through the woods from the main road, with room to spare if someone were to come over. She pushed her way into the house, flipping the first light switch before moving to the side so he could squeeze by with Janis in her carrier. It was dark out, but light flooded the large living space just beyond the foyer. Boxes were scattered everywhere. The couch sat in the middle of the room where the movers had just dropped it. “Home sweet home,” he heard her mumble as the door clicked shut behind her. Her tone was sarcastic as per usual, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she was grinning from ear to ear.

They sat on the floor at the coffee table to eat their takeout Chinese food and sip on the booze they had picked up on their way to the house. Heinekens for Paul. Bourbon for Emma. Janis had disappeared somewhere into the house as soon as he let her out, and very faint meowing could be heard from somewhere upstairs. “Could I have the rice?” he requested, swallowing a mouthful of kung pao chicken. She nodded as she scooped a mouthful of lo mein into her mouth with chopsticks and then handed the container of rice to him. 

He held the rice in his hand and just stared at her for a moment. She looked tired. Not like when she was back at Beanies or during her final finals week. It had been a long day. They had been going since very early that morning on little sleep from the night before, but still, she had a hint of a smile that was touching her eyes. “What the hell is that look about?” she teased as she took a sip of the amber liquid that was running low in the bottom of her glass.

Shaking his head, he piled rice onto his paper plate. “Nothing,” he replied. He scooped another spoonful of chicken on top of the rice. “Things are just pretty good right now.”

“Fuckin sap,” she said through a mouthful of food. “But you’re not wrong. Don’t tell anyone I agreed with you, though.”

“Oh, god forbid.”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, only breaking it to pass food back and forth across the coffee table. It was quiet back by the pond, which was really too big to be classified as a pond, but it had been called Chestnut Pond for as long as either of them had lived in Hatchetfield. So the name stayed. Their nearest neighbor was at least a quarter mile away through the woods and they were back from any regularly traveled road, so it was silent. Only the sounds of crickets and peepers could be heard with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. She had gone on about how much better his sleep was going to be in the middle of the woods, and he was starting to think that she might have been onto something.

After they had their fill of food, they tossed their trash into the brown takeout bag. He walked it back into the kitchen. Their new sizable kitchen. Plenty of counter space that wrapped around the corner of the room. A large gas range with an oven to match its size. And then there was her island that had a two bucket sink and plenty of extra counter space, though a lot of that space was currently being used up by boxes full of kitchen items. He was pretty excited about the fridge. Double doors and a pull out drawer for a freezer. So much room to keep things tidy. He dropped their trash into the garbage can they had temporarily placed at the far end of the island.

At the end of the living room, he heard the back door slide open and then squeeze shut. Peeking around the corner, he could just barely see her form out in the dark. He strode across the room from the kitchen and quietly followed her out. She was in a pair of jeans and wearing one of his old college sweatshirts that read ‘University of Washington’ across the front. It was comically large on her, but it was also her go to sweatshirt on cool nights like this one. She looked at him over her shoulder. “I could fucking get used to this,” she said, nodding towards the water.

The moon was high in the sky and poking through the tree cover enough to create slivers of white light on the water. They both carefully walked through the dark from the patio towards the water’s edge. “I’ve gotta agree there,” he chimed in, standing just behind her as she looked out over the water. He watched her instead. Part of him was pretty sure that he was dreaming and at some point he’d wake up two years in the past. And he would roll out of bed and pop into Beanies to over tip the barista who he would never work up the guts to ask out. It would be back to just him and Janis living in their little house alone. He would get shit from Ted every single day and have to remind Bill that he was just fine being alone. He would go back to being acquaintances with most of his co-workers and return to being just plain old mildly content Paul.

He hadn’t woken up yet, though, which was amazing. God, he hoped that he never would.

Digging his hand into his pocket, he ran his fingers around the smooth metal band in his pocket. His heart was pounding in his chest. Thoughts of sitting in his bedroom as a teenager, wondering what was waiting for him outside of Hatchetfield. Then he left and found that he couldn’t wait to get back to Hatchetfield. For a long time, he thought it was just because that was what he knew. It was comfortable in Hatchetfield, but after a while, he found that nothing was comfortable. He was anxious all the time, and even being a place he knew so well, he felt antsy. At this point, though, he was beginning to wonder if fate was a real thing and if that’s why he came back after getting out.

He felt like he could hear his heartbeat in his head as he pulled the ring out of his pocket. It was old. His grandmother had given it to him a few months after Dan’s wedding. She insisted that he meet her for dinner after work. He picked her up and they went to the diner, where they had a quiet conversation over tuna melts. She had grown to be much gentler than he remembered her being as a child. Although when he thought about her now that he was an adult, she wasn’t ever terrible. She always had reasons for her strictness. She liked rules and felt they should be obeyed, but at the end of the night, she would come in and read each of the boys a story before being sure to kiss them goodnight and tell them she loved them.

She had placed the ring in the palm of his hand. He recognized it as the one she had worn for many years on her long thin fingers. One round white diamond with two smaller blue stones on either side of it. Intricate swirls of metal that looked almost like vines held the stones to the band itself. He had looked at her quizzically. “ _ I always hoped you would find someone, so I didn’t have to put this in my will _ .” When he tried to say that he couldn’t take it or that he didn’t even know if he and Emma were ever even going to get married, she pushed his hand back to him. “ _ Just hang onto it. See where things go. _ ”

There he was, taking a deep shaky breath in from where he was lowering himself on the ground. About to see where things were going to go.

“Em?”

She hummed in response, but when she heard nothing back, she looked back to him, expecting to see him standing behind her. Confused when she didn’t see him initially, her eyes dragged down to find him kneeling behind her, something glinting between his fingers in the slivers of moonlight. “What the hell are you…” She trailed off, fully turning around. She squinted in the darkness to try and make out what he was holding, taking several seconds before she was able to make out what he was holding. “Paul, what are you doing?” Her voice was wavering more than she wanted it to, and her heart was pounding more than she expected it would.

“I know this isn’t really your thing, and you don’t really like the whole idea of putting a contract on a relationship that’s already working,” he began, thinking back to conversations that they had over the past couple of years. “But I also know that I… am really  _ fucking _ in love with you. I get to wake up everyday with you and go to sleep every night with you, and that’s just… it’s crazy. I--”

“Paul, you don’t--”

“I  _ know _ you don’t like marriage. I know you think it’s a cop out and just a checklist item for people, but listen, I don’t know how much more I can do to tell you I love you,” he continued, barreling through her interruptions. His eyes drifted down to the ground, suddenly feeling like that awkward kid in his bedroom again. “I can’t imagine doing all this with anyone else. I just want… all I want is you.”

She stood there for longer than he would have liked. His insides felt like they were squirming, and he couldn’t make out much her face in the dark. Just over the sound of the leaves rustling, he could have sworn that her breathing was a little more ragged than usual. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“Stop,” she whispered, the first thing she had said since trying to interrupt him. “Don’t… don’t apologize. I just don’t… I don’t fucking know.” His heart sank into his gut, which must have shown on his face because her hands flew up to his cheeks. “No, don’t… I just didn’t think… this was Jane’s thing. All this domestic bullshit. All this… I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to be someone’s good and nice fucking wife.”

“Well, you’re small and mean, so you weren’t ever going to be someone’s  _ nice _ wife. But I’d really like it if you’d be my tough, mean wife.” He heard her laugh, and it almost sounded like she might have been crying. “And it’s okay to say no because… I don’t know. Ring or not, you’re kinda everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“No! I mean… I don’t want to say fucking  _ no _ ,” she said quickly, taking her turn to stumble over her words. “I just… I knew you were going to fuckin do it, but I didn’t know it’d be like this. Also… get the fuck up.” He did as she asked, once again towering over her. He could see her face a little more. Her hand came up to her face to wipe away what appeared to be tears from her eyes. “I didn’t know I’d want to say yes.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, letting out a breath that he wasn’t aware he had been holding. 

“Yeah,” she chuckled, her voice still thick and watery. “Did I fucking stutter?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her up into a hug, holding onto her tightly. “God, you’re ruining me. Making me so fucking soft,” she muttered into his neck. “Also put me down and get that rock on my finger, boy.” He placed her back on the ground and kissed her lightly. The ring was still between his forefinger and thumb, and when he brought it back up to place it on her finger, he realized his hands were shaking. It fit. A little loose, but it fit. Luckily, Agnes spent most of her life thin as a rail, so her fingers had been small. “Jesus Christ, Paul.” Emma raised her hand up closer to her face. “Where’d you get the money for this?”

“The national bank of it’s Gigi’s ring?” She looked up at him, brows furrowed. “She liked you a lot, and for whatever reason, I’m her favorite. However the hell that happened. So… she said she was glad she didn’t have to put it in her will.”

She laughed, sniffling slightly. “She’s the fucking man, man,” she said, bringing the hand back up to his cheek. They stood like that for a moment, taking in the quiet of the night. Just the sounds of the woods enveloping them. It was quiet and still, like time had just stopped around them. She stood on her toes and kissed him, softly at first before her arms wound around the back of his neck. A kiss she was hoping to have whenever she wanted for the next… forever. She wanted that kiss forever.

He lifted her off the ground again, but this time she one-upped him by wrapping her legs around his waist, to which he responded with a surprised laugh at the back of his throat. Carefully, he lowered them both onto the grass. It was plush and a little overgrown beneath him. Something he was thankful for when she pushed him onto his back. In the pale light carrying from the house, he could see her face. It was slightly red and blotchy from crying, but a smile was perched on her lips. "I can't believe you spent all that money on fucking tips and couldn't even ask me what my name was," she murmured, a laughing lingering in her voice.

"Worth every penny."

She leaned down, straddling his hips, and kissed him slowly over and over again. Very carefully hitting his lips at every possible angle. It felt surreal and wonderful. Making him think back to every bad date he had in college and every joke his brothers had ever cracked at his expense. "You're gonna be fucking  _ stuck with me _ ," she muttered into his mouth, holding his chin in her hand. All he could do was smile against her lips and return the slow, deepening kisses. Every blind date Bill tried to set him up on. Every holiday where it was implied he was going to be alone for the long haul. His hand tangled itself in her hair, pressing her closer and harder into the kisses. "A little bold tonight, huh?"

His hand unfurled from her hair, causing her to pull away from him just slightly, and he took a moment to just look at her in the glow of the house light. Same chocolate eyes. Same sharp jaw. Same tiny button nose. Same twisting grin. "God," he breathed. She grinned down at him before pouncing right back on his lips. His hands found her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. "Can't wait for my wife to get drunk and fight my dad at family functions."

"You mean all I had to do to get permission for that was marry you? Let's fucking saddle up to the town hall and--" He cut her off with another kiss. One that tasted like the next twenty years of his life.

They rolled around like that in the grass for a while. Making out like a couple of teenagers. Taking breaks to make fun of each other. She even took it upon herself to remind him that she loved him. "Em, you're my best friend," he whispered, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I...uh… I don't want to do this with anyone else." Her heart leapt into her throat and tears pricked the corners of her eyes before she kissed him once again full on the mouth, both of her hands holding onto his cheeks. 

He was going to miss his little house, he decided. Changing and moving was a difficult decision to make, but those decisions were a little easier to make with her around. She was small and mean and funny and smart and she loved him. He was excited to finally be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing has been done! It's nice to write happy stuff, so I want to thank you all for coming with me on this paulkins journey. It's not over yet. I'm just grateful.


	26. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul smells bad and Emma drinks a fair amount of merlot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Here have another thing before another crazy week begins!
> 
> content warning for some pretty suggestive content if you know what I mean. *waggles eyebrows*

Paul had taken to going to the gym most nights after they got settled into the new house. It was a good stress reliever especially when work was getting stressful. Quarterly reports were coming due as June came to a close, and he just couldn’t seem to get his shit together. And on top of that, Ted was being Ted, which in and of itself was its own nuisance.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that Emma kept commenting on the progress that was making its way to the surface. First, it was the arms. Then it was the butt. Recently, though, there had been an upswing in comments about abs that were beginning to form. He never complained about the offhanded comments, but the occasional unsolicited butt smacks were sometimes not appreciated when he was sore. 

One of the things he had grown quietly fond of, though, was walking in the door after the gym. Usually she was milling about the house with a constant need to do something, like a pinball bouncing around. She had been going through a baking phase. Bread. Muffins. Brownies. Cookies.  _ So many cookies _ . He had begun to bring them to work with him, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat them all because she would make them, have one, and be done. He would sit and eat the entire three dozen in one sitting only to have a feeling of nausea and regret for the rest of the night.

He walked through the door as per usual, still a little sticky from the gym. The door closed behind him, and he turned the lock before kicking his sneakers off. He walked through the foyer, past the kitchen which didn’t smell of baked goods, and into the living room where he found her. She was sitting on the far end of the couch as she scrolled through her phone, TV playing at a low volume in the background. Her hair was down and wet, still dripping from the shower she had obviously recently taken. Her other arm leaned on the back of the couch, and her hand was propping her head up. In the midst of her tendrils of dark hair, he could see the glint of the ring sending the overhead light back at him. 

She craned her neck to look back at him. “Hey,” she called out. “I’m pretty zonked, so I just had leftovers. Fend for yourself, my guy.” With that, she looked back at her phone. “How was work?”

“Work was… work, y’know?” he replied, adjusting his gym bag on his shoulder. He made his way across the room to stand closer to the couch, and almost as if on cue, Janis jumped up to brush herself up against his stomach. Absentmindedly, he scratched under her chin. It was second nature at this point. “Reports are finally in, but I feel like I rushed half of the stats. I don’t know… if anything, Ted fucked me up. He kept coming over and--”

“Janis, do you believe this shit?” she piped up, directly addressing the cat but gesturing toward him. His eyebrows shot up as he glanced down at her. “He comes in and gives you love, but completely ignores me. Un-fucking-believable.” He wrapped a hand around his mouth to keep from laughing. “I put all this time and effort into looking  _ this _ fucking hot.” She was in just an old oversized t-shirt that was littered with stains and a few holes, no pants. Beside her on the coffee table, there was a large but empty wine glass and a bottle of merlot that was three quarters of the way finished. It must have been a long day. “And it goes unnoticed. Unbelievable. I can’t believe I agreed to fucking marry you.”

“Oh, my bad,” he said in mock defense before he leaned over to kiss her softly on the lips. When he went to stand back up, she pulled him back down for another, this one longer. She had been more affectionate since they signed on the dotted line for the new house. At least when they were at home. A lot of kisses and touches. He had no complaints. “Hey,” he chuckled when he finally got to pull away.

She wrinkled her nose and squinted at him. “You smell fucking gross,” she grumbled, shoving his shoulder. “Go take a shower. You’re fucking  _ nasty _ .”

Snorting, he stood back up and walked over to the stairs. “Listen, I may be gross, but it’s strategic,” he insisted, climbing the first few stairs. “Do you know how many people talk to you or even stand near you at the gym when you stink? None, that’s right.” He pointed out at her, and she rolled her eyes, laughing. “Yeah, this was totally on purpose and I didn’t just forget to bring deodorant with me tonight.”

Her laugh was like the tinkering in a music box as he hit the top of the stairs. His steps echoed in the mostly empty upstairs. Two bedrooms had no furniture in them yet because they were still deciding what to do with them. They had considered one becoming an office. He had taken to working at home from time to time, which he did at the dining room table in the old house, but a designated space would have been nice. And less frustrating when it came to trying to keep all of his papers organized. He had suggested they turn one into a studio. A place where she could just do art when she so desired. She liked working on large canvases over the course of days and even weeks. He thought it might be nice for her to have her own space.

Their bedroom was spacious enough for a queen-sized bed, two dressers and nightstands, and an antique full length mirror. He tossed his bag onto the bed and pulled his shirt over his head to be thrown into the hamper across the room. His socks followed before he crossed the room to head into the bathroom attached to the room. Another perk of this house that he greatly enjoyed: no need to leave the room to pee in the middle of the night. 

Shutting the door behind him and flicking on the lights and fan in one motion, he slid into the bathroom. On the vanity counter, she still had makeup laying out from the morning. A small palette of different shades of brown and what looked to be several different sticks of eyeliner were littered across the counter top. After turning the water on in the shower, he collected the items and returned them to the drawer where she kept all her makeup. It was something he did most nights. Not because it frustrated him, it was more like second nature to him. Just take the few things that were out and put them in their designated place. 

He peeled off his remaining clothes and stepped into the shower, which was already pushing steam past the curtain. The water pelted over him, heat rolling over his head and shoulders. It was welcomed at the end of the day. A bow to tie up the evening of trying to destress. She was constantly telling him that he needed to unwind. That he was going to worry himself to death. Ending his night like this was helping do just that.

Closing his eyes, he stood face first in the stream. It was a quiet way to try and consolidate his thoughts. Sometimes they were just of the day and the stupid shit from work. Other times it was past nonsense coming to the surface like the constant sense of imposter syndrome he struggled with. Feeling as though he was living the wrong life, like everything was bound to fall apart because he wasn’t meant to have it. Even future big picture worries came to light. Like what they were going to do. Where they were going to be in ten years. What they’re plans in general were. The house. The eventual wedding. Maybe a family at some point. It was easy to dissect those thoughts and let them run down the drain in the shower.

The shower curtain rustled, and then a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. He pulled his face out from under the water and looked over his shoulder behind him to find a head of wet hair and a tanned, bare shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, a little taken aback by her being there. She looked up at him with her chin still resting in the middle of his upper back. “Seems a little redundant to take two showers.”

“Seems like a weird fucking choice to question a naked woman in the shower with you.”

He laughed, reaching for his soap on the shelf beside them. “I do actually need to shower,” he said while squeezing a palmful of soap into his hand. “Someone told me I smelled bad.” Lathering the soap over his chest and shoulders, he peeked back at her again. “You may want to… y’know, not be right there.”

“You’re really no fun at all. Paul No Fucking Fun Matthews.”

She had unraveled her arms from around his middle and now watched as he rubbed soap all over his body. The muscles in his back becoming more pronounced did not go unnoticed. She bit down on her lower lip to try and keep from grinning. “Listen, just let me finish up doing what I have to do here, and then you and I are going to have some words.” He wouldn’t turn around to face her. Instead he grabbed the bottle of his shampoo and scrubbed the soap until his head was full of suds. “I can’t look at you yet because I’ll get distracted.”

“That’s not really a bad thing, Paul.”

“Emma,” he chided, leaning in and rinsing the soap out of his hair. Releasing the breath he was holding in, he turned around with his eyes still squeezed shut. “I really smelled like shit. I had to actually take a shower.” He rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands in an effort to make sure there was no more shampoo near them before he opened them up to look at her. “Wow, look at you.”

Arching a brow, she crossed her arms over her chest. He pouted at her in response. “Oh, don’t give me that horse shit,” she groaned. He moved closer to her until he was staring directly down at her, wearing the same pout. “What’re you gonna fucking do about it, bub?” He leaned down and rested his hands on her hips. “Try me, bitch.”

They sat there nose to nose, and he smirked. “You’re real fucking testy, you know that?” he mumbled, voice growing low. She grinned, teeth and all, before her hands flew up and pulled him in for a kiss. Deep and slow. Her tongue snaked into his mouth, eliciting a groan from the back of his throat. 

“Wanna talk about me being fucking testy a little more?” she sighed into his mouth. Goosebumps were forming all over their skin as the water turned cold. She pressed against him harder for warmth.

Without warning, he hiked her up so that her legs were around his waist. She yelped at the sudden motion, but held on with a grip on his shoulder and the back of his head. “Wanna give me a harder time?” he shot back, steadying himself with his upper arm against the wall of the shower. 

She glanced down between them, a smirk of her own growing across her lips. “I mean, I think I’ve already done that,” she teased, causing him to throw his head back and groan. A laugh left her throat, which was also growing thick and gravelly the longer they were in there. “What’re you waiting for, cowboy? You’ve got me right--”

He went to move and press her up against the wall, but instead, he nearly lost his footing and almost sent them both hurdling to the floor. At the last second, he was able to let both hands go from her thighs and catch his balance against the tiled walls, but his heart was beating in his chest as if he had just fallen directly on his ass. “Oh my god,” he gasped, leaning his head against her shoulder which was beginning to bob up and down. He pulled back to find her lips pursed together, trying to hide her giggles. “Are you fucking  _ laughing _ ? I could have killed you or at least like… seriously have hurt you just two fucking seconds ago? And now you’re  _ laughing? _ ”

In response, she wriggled out from between him and the wall, scooted past him, and stepped out of the shower. He took his hands off the wall and turned around in cold water and shock as he listened to her pull her towel from the hook, laughing all the while. Her head poked back inside the curtain. “You better hop out of there and dry up because I see our near death experience hasn’t killed the mood at all.” She glanced down and nodded in his direction. “So let’s fucking go. Knees to chest, motherfucker.” Disappearing behind the other side of the curtain, she bopped around the bathroom only to pop up at the other side to turn the shower off. “Come on. Vamanos.”

He all but tumbled out of the shower after her, cursing himself for being lured in by her every fucking time. Drying himself was quick work. Shoddy work, but quick nonetheless. Nearly slipping again on the floor in the bedroom, he could hear her in hysterics on the bed. When he looked up, he could see her face poking out from beneath the mounds of blankets. He steadied himself as he locked eyes with her. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked between her fits of giggles. He set off from the bathroom in a light sprint and leapt onto the bed. “Paul, no!” she shrieked in laughter when he plopped down right beside her. “I’ll give the long jump a six point five out of ten because it was alright but could use some serious work on the form.”

Peeling the blankets off of her, she watched him revel in the sight of her body: something that made her heart skip a beat every time. She had always looked at herself as average at best. Skinny. Small boobs. Average hips. Nice butt (she did give herself credit where it was due). Thick legs in comparison to the rest of her frame. But he looked at her like she was some sort of goddess. Like some otherworldly, ethereal being he couldn’t believe he was seeing with his own two eyes. He kicked the blankets clean off the bed and just laid there, propped up on his elbow, for a moment to trace outlines on her skin with the tips of his fingers. The touch was light, barely even making contact with her. She felt a shiver crawl down her spine.

“I can’t believe you’re going to marry me,” he whispered, and it was barely a whisper. More like a breath that just so happened to have words attached to it. “ _ Me _ . Just plain Paul. Marrying the latte hottay. Wow.” She rolled her eyes but still found her breath hitching when he came in for the lightest of kisses. When he went to pull away, she grabbed him and brought him right back in, deepening the kiss immediately. Their tongues danced alongside each other. She tasted like spearmint. “You’re going to be  _ my _ wife.  _ Me _ . That’s fucking nuts.”

She let her head fall against the pillow, trying to act frustrated. Well, she was frustrated. She had said yes to his proposal because she really did want to. At the same time, though, she had this image in her mind that it would be something very casual. Not much would change. Just some rings and some words and a contract. So why was she getting so many butterflies at all this wife talk? “Yeah, just don’t get framed for my murder and then go on the run. I think Harrison Ford already has the corner on that market.”

He shook his head with a lazy smile on his face, dipping back in to kiss her once more. However, this time he hiked her thigh up over his hip and smiled wider when she gasped in surprise at the action. Her arms snaked around the back of his neck to draw his face back to hers, lips colliding before he rolled onto his back and fully yanked her on top of him in one motion. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. ‘I didn’t kill my wife.’ Has a nice ring to it.” Rolling her eyes once again, she reached for the light on his nightstand, but he grabbed her arm. “Leave it. I want to see you.”

She blushed, words lost in her mind. Everything was spinning in her head between the way he was looking up at her and the bottle of wine she had mostly consumed that night. Her hands rested on his chest as she stared back into his eyes. The bluest eyes she had ever seen. Round and curious. Scared sometimes. They were so many things at so many different times it was hard to keep track sometimes. But they were always his. They always looked at her with nothing but adoration.

“I love you,” she whispered back, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. “I love you.” Her hair dragged across his face slightly as she kissed the other cheek. “I love you.” His breath was labored and a hand found its way to rest on his hip while she kissed his forehead. “I love you.” Her lips met the tip of his nose, which she was ever so fond of. “I fucking love you.” The kiss finally landed on his lips, and she could feel his smile as his other hand found her cheek. “I don’t say it that often, and I don’t say it enough. But I--”

He cut her off with another kiss. A sign that she didn’t need to explain herself to him. She didn’t even need to say it for him to know. She was there with him. Laughed with him. And cooked. And cried. And Talked. And lived all there with him. That was all the proof he ever needed. They rolled over once again. Now on their sides, they just stared at each other. Soft and quiet. Limbs entwined. Skin on skin. Together. They kissed again. He tasted like stars and magic and love.

She pressed herself flush up against him and smiled, eyes still closed. He returned the sentiment, a full toothy smile. This was what happiness felt like. He was damn sure of it.


	27. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma throw a Fourth of July party at their house and an interesting group of people show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready to have someone enter who I've been wanting to put in, but I just?? Don't know??? How to write them???
> 
> Just remember I tried my best!

It was hard to say whose idea it was to have the Fourth of July party at their house, but both of them were regretting it as if one of them didn’t suggest it and the other didn’t agree to it. 

All of the usual suspects were going to be there. Melissa. Ted. Charlotte. Bill. Alice and Deb were going to be driving home to make an appearance. Paul had decided to actually reach out to his family, and by that, he only reached out to his brother Jack, his wife Marnie, and their kids. No one else. He didn’t want to have that nonsense in his life. Emma, on the other hand, sucked it up and invited Tom  _ and _ Becky in hopes that she could get some time in with Tim. To her surprise, Tom accepted the invite.

Her final choice of guest was one that came out of left field when he actually said he would go.

“I can’t believe I get to finally meet the illusive Professor Hidgens today,” he commented as he poured a bag of ice into a cooler. They had gone out and purchased an outdoor table and chairs to put out by the patio and a set of chairs to sit around a fire pit out by the pond. “Should I be preparing myself?”

She looked over her shoulder as she set the large umbrella in the middle of the patio table. “I don’t know he’s an old hermit of a dude,” she explained, pushing the umbrella so it covered the table. “So whatever kooky old fucking hermits are like?”

“Yeah, what brings a recluse out on July fourth?” he questioned. Beers and sodas were loaded up into the cooler. A few water bottles. He had debated getting another cooler to separate alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages for the kids, but she rationalized that Tom would be on top of Tim and it was up to Jack and Marnie to be on their kids. She also had to remind him what kids in college do. Maybe not what he did in college, but most of them. In turn, he told Alice that she and Deb could spend the night if need be. “Seems a little odd.”

“I asked him enough times to finally come out,” she replied simply, standing at the patio with her hand on her hip watching him fill the cooler up with drinks. His eyes drifted up for a moment almost as if to ask if she could help him out, but he should have known better and just returned to the last few bottles. “Squeaky fucking wheel, man.”

“Oh, is that what I have to be to get some help?” he shot back as he finished the last of the drinks. Glaring, she stared at him incredulously. “Don’t do that. I’m just giving you shit. I’m happy to help out with your party.”

“ _ My _ fucking party?”

“Yes,  _ your _ party.”

“Okay.” She walked towards him to pick up the boxes that the drinks had come in. “Okay.” Snatching them up, she walked back toward the house. “Okay.” She shut the screen behind her and walked into the kitchen to break down the boxes for recycling. “Okay!” He heard her should from the kitchen. 

Rolling his eyes, he followed her back into the house and into the kitchen where he rested his hands on her shoulders. “So this is my party?” he suggested. There was no answer. She just continued to flatten the boxes. “Emma?” Still nothing. Only the sound of cardboard breaking down filled the room. “Okay, it’s my party.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” she muttered, trying to ignore when he leaned down to rest his chin atop her head. “And it was you’re fucking party. You wanted all your friends to get together.”

“Maybe, but you wanted to get Tim, Tom, and Hidgens over,” he added, squeezing her shoulders. “And it was your idea for me to invite Jack.”

“I just thought it would be nice to have some kids for Tim to play with if he wanted,” she insisted as she turned around to face him. The words resonated in her head and settled on her brain. “Okay, maybe it was a group effort.”

“Our fucking party?”

She nodded. “Our fucking party.”

He grinned, nodding as well. “Alright, now that that’s settled,” he began before he hoisted her up and over his shoulder. “Let’s go grumpy. We’re going to get some booze in you.” She squealed and pounded on his back, but there was a big smile plastered all the way across her face as he walked back towards the back door.

“Alright, love birds, this is just fucking gross.”

He stopped, and she looked up through the ponytail that had fallen over her face to find Ted and Charlotte standing in their doorway. “Nice to see manners still aren’t in your realm of understanding,” she scoffed as she sized him up. “And that is just as horrible of a shirt as the last fucking time I saw you. Do you exclusively shop in the middle-aged dad section of Old Navy or did you rob an estate sale? Paul, look at this douchebag.”

Paul turned around, still holding her up on his shoulder, to look at Ted. His shirt was terrible. The shirt was another button down unbuttoned at the top, but the pattern was horrific. It looked like a patchwork aged American flag but had some overlaid text from the Constitution peppered in the pattern periodically. “God, Ted, that’s bad,” he concurred. “I have nothing nice to say about that.”

“Alright, dicks, where can I put the mac and cheese,” he snapped, gesturing with the aluminum pan. “Unless you’re fused together like that, I fucking refuse to follow you anywhere.” Paul finally placed Emma back down on the floor and she shuffled into the kitchen to take the mac and cheese from Ted to put in the fridge for the time being. Both Paul and Charlotte had to chuckle when Ted nearly ate shit trying to jokingly kick Emma’s butt, but missed horribly.

“Also, I think there’s an old man lost in your driveway,” Charlotte added in, lifting up a twelve pack of Miller. “And I have more beer.”

He looked over in the direction of the kitchen, hearing bickering between Ted and Emma. “Paul, go find the old man,” she hollered during a break in berating Ted for something, which he was firing insults right back at. Paul hesitated until her head poked out of the kitchen. “Dear, please go retrieve my fucking Hidgens please.”

“ _ Dear _ ? That’s fucking rich… Ow!”

“You fucking deserved that, you shit.”

Moving past Charlotte and into the foyer, he pushed through the front screen door and out onto the porch, where he did, in fact, find an old man who did look very lost. “Um… Hi! Uh, Professor!” he called out from the porch, getting the old man’s attention. He walked briskly from where his car was--a very old Buick that was rusting on the roof. Quicker than Paul anticipated.

Professor Hidgens did not look how Paul expected. He was definitely a Santa Claus looking old man in his mind. Jolly. Bearded. Glasses. Rosy cheeks. This man wasn’t even close to that. He was tall and slender with a fully greyed head of hair that was neatly kept short and styled. Age had hit him gracefully. Lines ran from the corners of his eyes and across his forehead, but if Paul was asked how old this man was, he would be at a loss. He was also surprisingly normal looking for a hermit, someone might even consider him handsome. Well, he was normal enough save for the turtleneck khaki shorts combination.

In one arm, Hidgens held a brown paper bag in one arm and extended the other to Paul when he stepped up onto the porch, standing at roughly the same height as him. “Young man,” he greeted, voice deep and gravelly. Paul took the handshake and kept it firm. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” They stood there for a solid moment, still in the midst of the handshake. The professor’s steely eyes studied Paul’s face, and he suddenly felt like he wanted to squirm away, like he was being scrutinized. Like the older man was studying everything that he had ever done wrong. Trying to decipher his every flaw. “Son, you can let go of my hand now.”

Well, he was embarrassed and let go of his hand so quickly someone would have thought he had been burnt by it. Hidgens nodded and straightened out his shoulders. “May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the door, which Paul nearly tripped over himself to hold open for him.

It was a little bizarre that he was so nervous to meet her biology professor because he was just that: a biology professor. Why was he losing his mind over this? He followed the professor into the house where she was greeting him.

“Look at you, ya old coot!” she teased, a huge smile over her face. She reached up and gave him a tight hug, as one would with any family member they were greeting. “Finally made it out of that fucking house. About time, too. You’re putting Casper to shame there.” Hidgens was looking down at her with a fondness in his eyes that Paul was recognizing from somewhere but couldn’t quite place it. It was gentle and loving, but nothing that made him feel concerned or threatened. Purely platonic. She was returning the look as she gushed over the bottle of bourbon that had been hiding in the bag. “Hidgens, this shit is expensive.”

“Consider it a housewarming gift.”

The other guests meandered in over the next couple of hours. Jack, Marnie, and the kids. Bill, Alice, and Deb. Tom, Tim, and Becky climbed out of Tom’s Subaru and brought in a generous amount of hamburgers and hotdogs. Tom shook Paul’s hand upon finding him, giving a light pat on the back before making his way over to Emma to say hello. Paul didn’t have a moment to be confused before he felt someone poke at his side. He glanced down to find Tim grinning up at him. “Hey, Tim,” he chuckled.

“Hi, Paul,” he said back up at him. The little boy had grown at least an inch since he had stayed with them the autumn before, coming up closer to Paul’s chest. “Dad says you’re marrying Aunt Emma.”

“Well… yeah, I mean… that’s the plan.”

“Cool!” he shouted, which wasn’t too much of an issue with the noise level rising in the house. “I guess if I had to have an uncle you’re a good one.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Emma materialized behind them. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her hand rest lightly on his back. “Hey, buddy!” she greeted, wrapping the boy up in a hug that he happily returned. “Thanks for coming! You ready to learn how to skip stones? I’ve been making Paul help me collect stones all week just for this.”

Her hand found its way onto his back once again. It was subtle, but did not go unnoticed. He felt his heart skip a beat for a moment before being drawn back into the conversation. “Yeah, your aunt had me running all over the place trying to--”

“What in the fresh fuck?” Behind them, Jack had grabbed Emma’s hand, effectively cutting Paul off mid-sentence. “Is that Gigi’s ring?”

“C’mon, Jack, language!”

“It’s okay. My dad says--”

“Tim, dog or burger?” Tom called from outside, which prompted Tim to go running out to him requesting one of each.

Paul and Emma fully turned their attention to his brother, who was still holding Emma’s hand by her fingers. “How the hell did you manage to get that?” he asked, clearly flabbergasted. He was the one brother who had actually reached out to Paul ever. Especially after Dan’s wedding, he had kept in touch periodically. Asking how work was going. Seeing if they needed help with the move. They had even met up for beers just once when he was back in town. 

“Listen, I have one person in the family who likes me best,” Paul whined. “Can’t I have that one thing?”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up as he let go of Emma’s hand. In that moment, she could see the similarities between the two. Same long nose. Big blue eyes. Chestnut hair that turned into a mop of waves if left to its own devices. Same stupid surprised face. “Oh man, Mom’s gonna be fucking  _ pissed _ ,” he laughed, knocking his beer bottle against Paul’s. “She fought tooth and nail for that to go to Glen.”

She arched a brow. “If she has anything to say, I have a boot that’s looking to get shoved up someone’s ass,” she chimed in, completely deadpan. Jack returned the raised eyebrow to her with a bit of a smirk coming over his pink face. She lost count at four beers since he walked in. Glancing up at Paul, she shrugged. “I’ll fight your mom, too. Might as well fight the pair. Get good old mom and dad in one fight. I’ll fucking win.”

“Paul, holy shit!” Jack hollered, laughing. He clapped a hand down hard on his younger brother’s shoulder. “What the fuck? How did this happen?” He turned to Emma with an open mouth grin. “You’re my new favorite sister-in-law. I mean… I… uh didn’t have one before, but I guess I do now.” Another hard clap onto Paul’s shoulder before he headed in the direction of the back door. “Jesus, things are changing!”

She took a moment to admire the ring on her finger before smirking up at him. “I’m going to fight your parents so fucking hard.”

“Can’t wait to get super drunk and watch.”

Tom had taken it upon himself to not only grill all the burgers and hot dogs, but also start a fire in the fire pit when the sun started getting lower in the sky. He was like a regular boy scout, though Emma was fairly certain he never was one. Just liked meat and setting things on fire. Everyone else had milled about the yard. Ted and Charlotte had found themselves somehow caught up in conversation with Hidgens, who was very animated once he got talking. Ted kept shooting back responses while Charlotte sat wide-eyed and a little dazzled by whatever was being said between the two.

Down by the fire, Bill sat across from Tom and Becky. She was draped across Tom’s lap in one Adirondack chair, one hand playing with the hair on the back of his head. She was laughing at something Bill had said. Tom smiled but didn’t quite get the laughter out. Deb and Alice had found a quiet patch of grass beside a large old oak tree. They sat cross legged from each other, talking amongst themselves quietly. Smiles. The biggest smiles. Deb gave Alice her flannel when she began getting cold and was admiring how it looked on her every time Alice’s gaze left her.

Paul sat up on the patio with his nieces for a while. Celeste and Sabrina. Eight and nine respectively. They enthusiastically told him about how school was going. How they had dance and piano lessons. How they were going to play soccer and do cheerleading in the fall. He listened intently, chiming in when necessary. Emma watched on from down by the pond. He smiled brightly at the girls and occasionally gave a very forced surprised face every now and then to appease them, the grin growing wider when they were. When it was time for them to head home, they tackled him in hugs, which caused genuine surprise for him. “Bye, Uncle Paul!” she could hear being shouted. The look on his face was soft. He was touched that they were so excited to see him and giving him such a big goodbye. It was very likely because he had listened to them jabber on for at least forty minutes, but who knows.

Before the sun fell over the horizon, Emma grabbed Tim and brought him down to the edge of the pond where she had made her perch. Paul could see her pulling out a small bag filled with flat rocks from his spot on the patio. Tim hopped around excitedly. He watched her get low, a stone in her hand, getting ready to be skipped across the pond. She twisted her hips ever so slightly and let the stone rip across the water. Her nephew stood amazed before pulling out another rock that immediately sunk when he tossed it at the water. She stood behind him, placing another rock in his hand and speaking some sort of instruction to him. 

Beside him, someone sat down, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. She held onto Tim’s wrist, guiding him on how to toss the rock so it would glide across the water. When it did, Tim cheered and high fived her, both of them laughing hysterically. “You know, she was the only person in thirty years to ever give me a second glance,” the professor said, startling him slightly. Hidgens placed an apologetic hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I’ve theorized every possible ending of the world holed up in my home.”

“Really?” he asked, squinting at him unsure if his statement was hyperbolic. “Every one?”

“You better believe it.” Hidgens took a sip out of the glass of water in his hand. “She brought me groceries when I wouldn’t leave the house, thinking one of those… apocalypses was coming to fruition.” He looked down at his glass, a soft smile touching his lips. “It was a stupid thing to do, Paul. She barely had any money, but she bought food for an old crazy man. Left it out on the porch for me to grab when I was ready.”

Paul looked from the professor to Emma, who was crouched next to Tim as he attempted to skip another stone. One that skipped twice before falling into the water. The boy turned and closed Emma in a hug. Joy. He looked back to the professor. “She’s a good girl, Paul,” Hidgens continued. “She still comes to visit me. Even when she wasn’t in a class of mine, she would go out of her way to come to my home and make me dinner. I will tell you that it is above and beyond any can of chili I have eaten in my entire life.”

“Yeah, she likes having dinner with you,” Paul agreed, recalling her stories of the fortress. “She says you pitch her bits of the musical you’re writing.” Before the professor could pipe up about it, Paul raised a hand. “I don’t like musicals, and I… um… don’t know you very well. But I do like her, so I’ll listen to the recaps.”

“Just when I thought I was beginning to like you, son,” the professor sighed, a frown deepening on his face. Paul’s eyes went wide and he suddenly felt like a hooker in church. In hot water. Hidgens looked up with a smirk on his face. “She did tell me you were gullible, but that was impressive.” Internally, he groaned at her going on about him, but it didn’t last long when he thought about her wanting to actually talk about him to other people. “She’s very fond of you, Paul.”

Both of their gazes shifted back onto the pair by the pond. They were now sitting on the ground, having given up on skipping stones. Something said between them sent them into a fit of giggles. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander farther in time. Sometime in the future in their house. She would be down by the pond with a child. They would tuck them in together at night. Reading bedtime stories. Eating dinner together. Hell, even the professor could come.

“I’m glad to have met you,” Hidgens said, dragging Paul out of his fantasy world. “She’s said so much about you and the kind of person you are that I had to find out for myself. I needed to make sure she was happy.” Paul looked over at the old man, who was watching out over the yard looking at the woman in question. The steel blue eyes had the same fondness as earlier. The one that he couldn’t quite place. But this time, it was laced with a touch of sadness. Like he was driving away from dropping his child off at college for the first time. Bittersweet.

He  _ had _ seen that look before. With Bill. With Tom. Even with Jack. Watching their children grow up and move into their places in the world. He glanced back over at the professor, smiling slightly. Thoughts of the stories of her parents came into his head. “I read on the internet once that people… choose their families, which is asinine. You do  _ not _ get to choose who birthed you. It’s… it’s absolutely preposterous to think… but what I was getting at was Emma explained to me that it’s more of a…  _ feelings _ type of… thing? You get to choose who you care about more than who is your family.” Hidgens sighed before taking another sip of water. “She’s as close to that definition of family as I’ve had in a long time to that.”

Yes, he knew that look. The look he sometimes had wanted as a kid. Longing for the approval of his parents. Wanting them to be proud of him like they were proud of his brothers. But even then, he was realizing, there was always something missing. One key part. He saw it in Hidgens. He saw it in Bill. He saw it in Tom. Love. He was pretty sure it was love.

Even if she never got it from her own parents, though, it seemed that there was a new parent who was willing to enter the arena. The man watched on as the closest thing he had to a daughter split a s’more between herself and her nephew, the two laughing all the while. Hidgens smiled to himself and patted Paul on the back before standing and walking into the house.

Paul took a sip of his beer, grinning when Emma looked back and waved up at him. He returned the wave and pressed his lower lip against the rim on his bottle. His mind was reeling. Something had dawned on him. Something that didn’t seem as though it would have been something he’d be encountering. He laughed into the bottle, taking another sip.

He was almost sure that he just got approval from her dad in some strange way.


	28. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma enjoy a night out by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paulkins getting us through this crisis, huh?
> 
> Have a fluff!

They had no plans to rush and get married. In fact, half of the time it still felt like something that wasn’t even going to actually happen in real life. Everyone around them, however, was very interested in any plan they weren’t making. Venue. Date. Dress. Rings. Wedding party. There just wasn’t any need to even think about it. Time was going to march on no matter what, so what was the point in rushing.

It was much nicer to spend their days off lounging around the house doing nothing or doing things they otherwise wouldn’t have during the week. After the barbeque, Emma had decided that she was going to use one of the spare bedrooms. Like in the old house, she took to painting the far wall differently than the others. Paul had arrived home from hitting the grocery store to find her up on a ladder painting the wall solid black. “ _ It looks bad now, but this is going to be cool as shit. I promise,” _ she explained without stopping her paint brush.

No that it mattered. It was just as much her house as it was his, and she was never one to want to be dug out of her mistakes. If the wall didn’t go the way she had wanted, she would figure it out. Paint over it and start again. He left the room with his hands up defensively and retreated downstairs, not so sure of it turning out cool but trusting whatever it was she would figure it out.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later that he saw her plan come to fruition. The black wall was even more opaque, but it had been covered in light colored drawings and lettering. She had turned the entire wall into a chalkboard. When he walked in, the entire lower half of the wall was covered in a city skyline. Detailed and in perspective. She stood there with a stick of chalk still in her hand, staring at him expectantly. “ _ Alright, yeah. This is cool as shit.” _

He seemed to like the chalkboard wall. If for no other reason, he was able to leave her little notes now and then. Mostly small comments about the art that was left there over the weekend. They were never anything long or particularly creative. Mostly a ‘ _ beautiful! _ ’ or a ‘ _ so cool!’ _ left now and again. Sometimes with smiley faces. On occasion: ‘ _ love it. Love you. _ ’ She took a picture every time he left a message. Not because she was going to tell anyone he did it, but because she would save them for days she felt like things were hopeless. When everything felt like it was caving in on her. But he wouldn’t know. She couldn’t let him have that credit.

She liked spending her day up in that room. It was spacious and the windows were large, letting in as much light as possible. Beneath the window panes, there were benches built right into the wall that had storage beneath their cushions. There wasn’t much need for their storage, but she did like to sit in the window. Even if she wasn’t doing art-related things, she would just sit there, letting the afternoon light soak her while she still was able to enjoy the central air. There were even times that he would come up and read a book in the window while she spread paint across a large canvas he had gotten her for Christmas. Quiet and together.

In the evening, though, they would often retreat downstairs. Some weekend nights they would spend their time exclusively on the couch. After they cooked something new together--a weekly tradition they enacted in an attempt to start eating better--to the couch they would go to do much of nothing. Watch reruns of  _ It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia _ or  _ the Office _ (Emma’s and Paul’s favorite TV shows respectively). Turn on a marathon of  _ Law & Order SVU _ or  _ Kitchen Nightmares _ so they could completely tune it out. It was easy and relaxing. She would sprawl out across the couch, her legs over his lap. He would rest his hand on her thigh, drumming his fingers to the beat of theme songs every now and then.

But as the summer began to wane, they had taken to sitting out by the pond with a small fire. The nights were growing cooler, but it was still warm enough to enjoy the breeze when it blew by. Those were her favorite nights. They would sit in Adirondack chairs opposite each other and just talk for hours. It was easy to lose track of time because in those moments time felt like it stood still. Like they had just sat down to a sixth or seventh date. Comfortable to laugh and know about each other, but still excited. Still sitting on the edge of every word the other person said.

Things were easy sitting with him around the fire late at night. They drank a couple of beers each over the course of a few hours. He looked particularly young in the light of the fire. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Smiling as he talked about stupid antics Bill and Ted had gotten into. Well, more Bill in a domino effect after Ted did something. Describing the book he had finished earlier in the day. Suggesting a meal for the following weekend that he saw someone share on Facebook. She leaned her head on her hand and thought about how she could listen to him talk all day, shoving the internal moaning down about how she was growing so fucking soft.

“What’s that look about?” he teased, jutting his chin out at her. He grinned. It wasn’t every day that he got to put her in the seat he normally inhabited. Giving him a hard time was easy. He made it easy, but he was always a good sport. “Hmm?”

Sticking her tongue out, she responded, “Am I not allowed to fucking look at you?” He leaned back in his chair, the same stupid smile on his face. At home, he was starting to wear his glasses all the time because he was  _ ‘getting to be an old fucking dork’ _ as she so artfully put it. “Oh,  _ fuck _ you, you little shit.” But her eyes spoke differently than her words. They were confessing the deepest affection and maybe a touch of something else. Just a faint hint of fear.

“Don’t be mad because I caught you pulling a full Paul,” he shot back before he took a sip of his beer. She just stared at him. “What?” 

She had technically known him for almost four years. There was a year of him dancing around her. Simply incessantly tipping her so she would remember him, which worked technically speaking. The first date she had been unsure of. He was so…  _ normal. _ Just average. But sometimes there was a lot of beauty to be found in ordinary things. Sometimes seemingly average things had so many moving parts that made them interesting and special. He was kind. Too kind to her sometimes. And thoughtful. Smart. Crazy organized. He might have put Jane to shame. Patient. So fucking patient. He waited over a year before being forced to ask for her number. And he was pretty fucking cute. She liked his glasses and when his hair got all messy after running his hand through it. And the sideways grin he wore when he was pleased with his own jokes. And how his brow furrowed when he was deeply concentrating on something. 

God, she had it fucking bad.

_ “What?” _ he reiterated with a laugh in his voice when she didn’t answer. A lot of years she spent alone, and it was fine. She was fine being by herself at the end of the day. Going out and being around people all day was okay, but when she came home and had no one else to worry about, she was fine with it. After that date at the bar, she hadn’t intended for things to be where they currently were. Hell, she didn’t even expect to still be in Hatchetfield. Let alone still with him. But there they were. There she was, crossing the space between them and crawling into his lap. He tensed for a moment, not expecting the sudden action, but quickly melted into her touch. “Oh, okay. Yeah.  _ Okay.” _

A chuckle left her as she curled her head beneath his chin, watching the fire burn. This was easy. And it made sense. So why did she still feel unsure? What was still in her that felt like running the other way? She was happy. Happier than she ever had been she was pretty sure. Her job was stable and actually made her think every single day. She had her friends. She had her… Hidgens. And then there was him. 

Things had been so disposable for most of her life. Shit, people had been, too. It was easy to just pack up and leave everything behind. Not that she wanted to keep attachments too much either. She couldn’t think of someone she had cared about more than her late sister before a few years prior. Really when she brought the professor that order of groceries and he wrapped her up in a tender, genuine hug a few weeks later, she was done for. There wasn’t a chance she was leaving that quickly. Then she was building a life. In  _ Hatchetfield  _ of all fucking places. But as of late, not even Hatchetfield felt that bad.

“You alright?” Paul asked quietly, fingers trailing down her spine. She hadn’t thought about how she was going to spend her thirties. When she really thought about it, she didn’t think that she would have even made it this far. Not that she had wanted to die. Somewhere in her, though, thought that if one of them was going to go, it wouldn’t have been Jane. But instead, she was there. A lump formed in her throat when she thought about how she was living out Jane’s Lisa Frank binder more than Jane had. This was more of what she figured Jane had pictured. Something happy and right. Not how things had turned out. Unhappy marriage. Husband shipped overseas with the military. Absentee sister. Overbearing parents. “Emma?”

“I… I, um, wonder why sometimes?” she finally was able to get out. It wasn’t her most coherent statement, but she could feel the emotions in the pit of her stomach. She was trying to keep them at bay. Pulling away from his neck, she looked at him to find a quizzical look facing back at her. “I have a lot of fucking guilt about Jane. It should’ve been me. She had all her shit figured out and I was out doing… god only knows what. Then I came back and things… they just worked. It’s not fair to her.

“And Tom’s right about me, y’know? I’m a flaky bitch. And all of this is hard everyday. I didn’t know how to do…  _ this. _ Anything like this. I thought I was living the rest of my life backpacking across South America. One day I’d just mysteriously disappear and that would be it. Now I have Melissa and I have Hidgens and hell even Ted.” She stopped her yammering to look at him. “And  _ you. _ I don’t know how things happen or how they work, but like, I’m a nasty and pretty malicious person sometimes. But you kept coming back every single fucking day for the worst fucking coffee I’ve ever tasted. We used to--”

“Spit in it,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I know.”

“See, that’s just it.” She tossed her hand up in the air as if she was gesturing something defeatedly. “What the fuck? You should be horrified by that. You… shouldn’t have kept coming back for me.” Her fight or flight was trying to force her into flight. It was bubbling to the surface. “Why do you want me here?”

He stared right into her eyes for a moment, trying to read her face. Trying to see what the right way to approach the subject was. “Did you know I remember seeing you in Brigadoon?” he asked, only to be met by her sighing and trying to speak again. “I didn’t know you or even think anything about you until I saw you in Beanies honestly, but I knew your face. I think it was from there.” He paused. His eyes fell onto the fire for a moment, hundreds of miles away for just a second. “I’ve had dreams about you for… like,  _ forever. _ It might sound stupid or… I don’t know, sappy. And maybe they weren’t even you. I don’t--”

She cut him off with a kiss. Soft and watery. Tears had formed in her eyes. There wasn’t much use in stopping them. The dreams had made her feel crazy. She hadn’t remembered them for a long time. She would wake up and forget them, but then he came around. Suddenly, it was every other day she could remember them. With their one constant. There was something about him that felt like coming home, which is why she stayed at the bottom of everything. Nowhere had felt comfortable like him. Not even coming back to her house after a long day at school. Not even climbing into her bed after a day of hiking in Guatemala. Not even when she finally would close her door behind her after a twelve hour shift at Beanies. 

Knocking his forehead against hers, he kept his eyes closed after breaking away from the kiss. “We don’t have to get married,” he told her, hand still resting on her back. “That’s totally something that doesn’t need to happen ever. If you don’t want to, we don’t do it. It’s… um… it’s more important that you stick around than have you sign some stupid contract to make you stay.”

“Didn’t I already do that by buying a goddamn house with you?” They both laughed at her words, as they usually did when she tried to break the tension. He opened his eyes and began to back away from her. Just enough so he could look at her. She rested her hands on his cheeks, gazing right back at him. There he was. Still soft. No hard lines to his features. Gentle ovular face. Big round eyes. Long sloping nose. The temples of his hair had a few white hairs dispersed throughout them that she wouldn’t tell him about. “You believe in fate, Paul?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

They laughed again, and he kissed her. Like she was the surface when he had been drowning. Like she was the oasis in the middle of a desert. Like his life depended on it. One hand was on the back of her head, and her heart was in her throat. She draped her arms around his neck. Everything felt dizzy. It was like something out of those books her sister liked to read when they were teenagers. The ones where the pouty girl was brought to the light by some quirky boy who had never kissed a girl before but was suddenly an expert at romance.

Paul was not an expert at romance in the slightest. He didn’t know how to talk about things that upset him, and he was the most awkward person she had ever met. But he knew how to love her. It was a soothing and considerate love. Distant when she needed it to be. Warm when she was ready. Totally fucking corny when he could get it in there. He didn’t know how to do much else with any ease. Socializing was foreign to him. If he could stand off to the side with his hands in his pockets during a party, he would do it all night long. But her… he knew her.

“I didn’t think I’d end up having a husband,” she admitted. Her words were just a breath on his skin. They nearly blended with the soft hissing of the fire.

“Me either.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not going to have a husband then, huh?”

He threw his head back, groaning, and she cackled at her own joke. “This is it then?” he questioned as he leaned back toward her. Her eyes narrowed. “Just like this? Because this is it. This is the dream. Shit, I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me because I annoyed you. I don’t know… just going to sleep next to you is--”

“You’re a fucking nerd.”

“I just want you here. I’m at a point where I can’t picture things without you in them, Emma.” His hand rested on her hip. “You make me laugh every single day even when I don’t want to. I just… um… you make my head feel like it’s going to fall right the fuck off. And you’re mean and you want to fight my dad, which is… kinda fucking hot.” They just stared out into each other’s eyes as if they were trying to communicate something that wasn’t able to be defined by words. Something beyond them. Something out in the infinite universe that was watching over them. “I never wanted to get married. My parents were so fucking miserable that I didn’t want that shit for myself. It was easy with me and Janis. No relationships. I maintained my distance from everyone. Easy. But I got it when I met you.”

“What a fucking sap.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I’m just telling the truth!”

“Yeah,” she agreed, kissing him softly. “But you’re still a fucking sap.”

They sat there like that until the fire started to dwindle. With her curled up in his lap. His arms wrapped around her. Words spoken quietly between the two of them. Small laughs shared. It was soft and mellow like the breeze that blew over them, sending embers flying up into the nighttime air. It felt nice to sit there just like that. Not thinking about the rest of the world as the night marched on.

Neither one would express it, but they felt like they knew what was going to come out of the other’s mouth as they sat there. Like they had been there before. Like it was a fond memory more than the present. But they enjoyed it nonetheless. Feeling full and loved. Feeling like things were falling into place.


	29. Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have a late night chat in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This guy's a little shorter, but my office is closed for the day tomorrow SO IT'S GONNA BE WRITING ALL DAY FOR YA GIRL.

It was dark in their bedroom save for the moonlight peering through the large set of windows. The sky had been clear for the past few days, and apparently, that had continued into the night. September had finally started cooling down enough to turn off the air conditioning and crack those very windows to let the nighttime air in. It was cool and sweet. Crickets still chirped in time with the other various creatures of the night. Very faintly, beyond the sounds of the animals and bugs, the breeze grazed over the water of the pond and lifted up to kiss the leaves that were just beginning to dry out and change colors.

Living in the woods was great for creating a natural sleep soundtrack.

Not that Paul didn’t still have issues with his sleep, though, because he absolutely did. Things were better in the new house. He didn’t wake up nearly as much in the middle of the night, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t because he was less stressed out. Work was just as stressful. His mother was a near constant nuisance about what was going on with the wedding. Then there was the persistent nagging fear with things. If he screwed up something at work that would get him fired. If that stoplight he went through had actually red and he was going to get a ticket in the mail. Whether or not he remembered to set his alarm for the morning. Whether or not someone he was friends with in junior high remembered a stupid thing he said when they were twelve.

The new house’s location made it a bit easier to fall back asleep, though. He didn’t find himself down in the kitchen doing dishes or on the couch reading quite as much as he used to. Laying in bed was much more preferable to sitting down by himself. Emma slept through the night nine out of ten times, and she slept like a rock. Sometimes, though, she would mumble in her sleep. Usually it was incoherent. Sometimes she would mutter her sister’s name. Sometimes his. There was one time she had a pretty clear statement about finding a hidden swimming pool. He liked to think about that one when she was having a night where there was more whining and wriggling than laughable phrases in her sleep.

He stood by the window, arms folded across his chest. Between the blinds on the window and the branches beyond it, he could see the moon. It was full or damn near it. Everything was painted in a pale blue light. Calm and quiet. In the water, the moon looked huge and distorted in the ripples. The whole setting felt surreal. Like he was in a movie. If he was being honest with himself, the past few years felt like they couldn’t have actually happened.

The day he got to work after his first trip to Beanies had been a blur. He couldn’t get his mind off of the cute little barista and the mediocre coffee she had served him. His heart went into a frenzy every time someone asked him what was going on with him. He wasn’t with it and not doing a good job of hiding it. If he had been a teenager, he would have gushed about his new crush. Beanies girl. But he wasn’t a teenager. He had been a thirty-one year old man who had no reason to be pining after a fucking barista, but he did anyway.

Then a few short years later, that barista was sleeping soundly just a number of feet away.

“What’re you doing up?” she yawned, suddenly next to him. He had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t heard her get out of bed. Looking down beside him, he found her standing there wrapped up in the entire quilt from the bed. He glanced over his shoulder to find that, in fact, the sheets were the only covers still there, and they were arguably a mess.

“Did you have to bring the whole quilt?”

“I’m fucking cold. Get off my back,” she croaked as she pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “Can’t sleep?” He shook his head and returned his gaze to outside. Another yawn escaped her. “Oh man,” she sighed. “Something wrong?”

“Not really, mind’s just going.”

“Where’s it off to? Lay it on me, kid.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips as he looked back down at her. She was very obviously tired and looked like she could pass out right then and there. The urge to sleep was kept under wraps, though, at least for that moment. Instead, she burrowed her face into the quilt that was bunching at her shoulders. Her hair was everywhere, soft curls spilling out at all angles over the blue patchwork. It had gotten longer since she hadn’t been working at Beanies. Maybe even a little darker too. In fact, in that moonlight, he could have sworn she was looking more like the pictures he had seen of Jane. 

“Just the normal stuff, y’know?” he offered, but she squinted up at him like she knew. How did she always know? It was like some bizarro wonder twin power they managed to acquire somewhere along the way. Like a sixth sense. Like her spidey senses were tingling and knew it was something he should talk about. “What?”

“Spill your fucking guts.”

“That would be gross, Emma.”

“You know what I mean, you little shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her tone. She was always making him laugh, though, which he loved. There wasn’t a single point in his life where he could remember laughing as much as he had since she had been around. “I just worry,” he began with a sigh, eyes finding the water outside again. “About… I don’t know. Everything?”

“Very specific, Paul.”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to sound crazy.” Anticipating a response, he paused for a beat. He hoped that she would interject and decide to just go back to sleep. But she stood there wrapped up in her blanket, staring up at him sleepily. “It’s like… things are good. It feels like they’re too good because shit like this… um… never happens to me? I’m worried this is so good that I’m going to wake up to it all being gone because it was some… fucking… cruel and unusual punishment for something I did in another life or some shit. This is something that happens for my brothers. They get their lives together and have… I don’t know. They’re happy. Happy just doesn’t happen for me, and some days I’m fucking positive this can’t be real. I know it sounds crazy, but it keeps me up some nights.”

They were both quiet for a long time. Just standing beside each other staring out into the backyard. Their backyard. This place was theirs, which still hadn’t entirely hit him. The old house was where they lived and things were shared there, but it always felt like  _ his _ house. The little red house on the pond, however, was a new chapter they started together. Still unreal. It was almost as if he had turned into the professor and had theorized his own life. Just theoretical. Hypothetical. Unbelievable.

She was the one to break the silence between them. “I worry about the same shit, too, y’know,” she replied softly into her blanket cape. “That this can’t possibly be fucking real because I’ve been a  _ real shit. _ I feel like karma should have stepped in and put me out on my ass a million years ago, but I’m here. You’re here with me, and you’re  _ so _ fucking nice it’s un-fucking-real.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” he replied.

“The same goes for you, bud.” She turned to him and reached a hand out from her quilt wrap to rest on his arm. “You’re cold,” she stated without moving her hand. Her thumb brushed against his skin, which sent shivers down his spine. “You should come back to bed.” No movement. They just stood there, frozen in the moment. Her fingers traced along the path the freckles on his arm had created on his skin. Stopping at his wrist, she slipped her hand into his. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go.”

The floor was cold against his feet, a fact he hadn’t realized initially. Actually, the entire room was cold when he took the time to get out of his thoughts. He had gotten out of bed with no shirt on and had been standing in front of the open window for… he wasn’t sure how long he had been there. She dropped his hand when they got to the bed, and he immediately missed the feeling of her hand in his. Quietly, he watched on as she spread the quilt back over the bed. Seeing her in just a tank top and underwear made him understand the choice to bring the entire quilt with her. 

He crawled into bed after her, the sheets cool against his skin. In the dim light from the moon, he could just barely make out the details of her face with her laid out on her back. The hollows of her cheeks. The sharp curve of her jaw. The gentle arch of her eyebrows. The long dark eyelashes. She was so still he wondered if she had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He hoped so, but at the same time, he almost didn’t want to go back to sleep himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of waking up to anything but this.

Her fingers caught his beneath the blankets. They were warm on his frigid hands. Not unlike the fire she sparked in his life. It had spread like wildfire as she touched each aspect of his being. Past. Present. Future. Suddenly there was light everywhere. Suddenly he was finding more ways to be happy and not just content. He didn’t ever thank her enough for that. He wasn’t sure how he could.

“If you wake up and it’s all gone, you better come fucking find me, okay?” she mumbled, her voice clearly on the verge of sleep.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”


	30. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma join the Matthews family for a week in Nantucket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I knew there was a reason I thought Hatchetfield was on the East Coast. I was watching a bit last night and Donna says on the news that Clivesdale raised the Nantucket Bridge. That's where I pulled that town from, so here enjoy.
> 
> Another quick bit! I do have to put a content warning for childhood trauma and abuse. Just be aware! I don't want to trigger anyone.

Paul knew it was a questionable choice to agree to spend an entire week at his parents’ home in Nantucket, but like always, he had been guilt-tripped into it. This time around, however, it wasn’t Emma who convinced him he had to go. It was his mother. She had complained enough that he never joined them for their annual excursion during the first week of October to celebrate her birthday. As if this wasn’t the first time she had actually invited him. He had dreaded the entire idea of the trip, and Emma was reluctant to take the vacation time from work (just in case, you know, something better came up). Though, to be fair, she had squirrelled extra booze away in a second bag, so she could finally fight his parents. Even after he told her that they would very likely have plenty of alcohol there already because the whole family had to spend an entire week together, children and all.

The house itself was beautiful and rustic-looking. Soft tan shaker siding. White shutters that actually acted as shutters for the windows. There were hanging plants on the wide front porch and a set of wicker rocking chairs. Above the porch, there was an equally wide balcony that led out from two of the six bedrooms to overlook thick woods that were painted in red and gold and out onto the water, which seemed to be a bright blue in contrast with the leaves.

As was expected, there was plenty of day drinking. He was thankful for that, too, because it made the whole family thing a tad easier to deal with. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was enjoying spending time with Jack and Marnie. He found them easy to get along with especially when removed from the other brothers. They spent most of their days out on the back deck throwing back beers and marveling at how Emma was getting Glen’s three kids to listen to her. They were notorious brats, constantly buzzing around and whining when they didn’t get something they wanted. But by day two, they were saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you, Aunt Emma.’ 

It was also easier to sit out back and day drink to avoid the rest of the family. Particularly, his father and eldest brother. The Glens were relentless even when he was a little desensitized after the… umpteenth drink of the day. Full of unnecessary comments and jabs at his ego. Those were the moments he wished Emma wasn’t being hounded by his mother, who had begun her own unrelenting quest to try and wrangle her future daughter-in-law under her thumb. Emma’s booze bag was coming in handy, as she knew it would, and it usually wasn’t water that she was drinking.

The nights were starting to creep across the sky earlier. He did have to admit that the sunsets were phenomenal. Orange and pink and yellow painted the horizon almost every night. Between the sky and the booze, he felt warm and mildly comforted by the sight. Looking over his shoulder on their second to last night in the house, he could see Emma leaning against the white marble counter of the kitchen island. Her glass was nearly drained, but from what he could tell, she had either had bourbon or whiskey. He could also surmise that she was teetering on the edge of just walking out on Astrid. Fingers drumming impatiently on the side of her lowball glass. Eyes staring off in the distance. Expressions going from confused to aggravated every other moment.

Jack leaned back in his chair and pulled open one side of the French doors that led out to the deck. “Hey, Emma! Come settle a debate we’ve got going here!” he shouted, which wasn’t necessary as she was only about fifteen feet from him, but in his mind, he had to… just because he was drunk. There also was no debate going on. Marnie had smacked him on the arm and pointed at the scene in the kitchen as a gesture to save the poor woman.

“Oh shit,” Emma gasped, shrugging before scooting toward the door. “Sorry, Astrid, I’ve gotta go end this dumbass debate. Ooh, sorry. Gotta go!” She wiggled through the small space that was open in the door, letting it click shut behind her. “Thank you.” She pointed to Jack. “Thank you.” She pointed to Marnie. “You couldn’t have done something earlier?” she accused, stabbing one finger into the middle of Paul’s chest. 

“What was I going to do?” he responded before taking another swig of one of the IPAs Dan had picked up earlier that day. The beers his brothers chose were higher in alcohol content but just as easy to drink as he was used to, so every single day they were hitting him pretty hard. He could feel that his entire face was warm and probably red. “You told me you wanted to fight my mom. I just wanted to let you have that.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Marnie scoffed, taking a sip from her glass of wine. Jack looked at her curiously. “What? She’s… intrusive and a fucking snob.” Marnie was from Clivesdale and was a few years older than Jack was. Her hair was long, pin straight, and had a red tinge to it when she stepped into the sunlight. Paul was pretty sure that he and his brother had the same taste in women at least as far as personality was concerned. She wasn interior designer who had a foul mouth and didn’t like to put up with shit from her husband. When it came to the family, though, she was much more willing to be a bit more passive than aggressive.

“Keep her,” Emma directed at Jack, leaning across the table they sat at to knock her glass against Marnie’s. They each took a sip of their drinks, Emma successfully finishing what was left of the watered down liquid that had settled to the bottom before she turned to Paul again. “Your mom’s the worst.” She plopped down into his lap rather than taking the chair next to his. “She keeps trying to get me to fucking… go dress shopping with her. Like  _ fuck  _ that. And over a hundred people at a wedding? Is that a real fucking thing that happens on the regular? Because I know like ten, twenty people  _ tops  _ and three of them are right here.”

“She’s got a lot of people she has to show off to or some shit,” Jack responded with a dismissive shrug, like it was something that everyone did.

“She can kiss the fattest part of my ass.” 

“She sure might try,” Marnie mumbled into her wine.

Paul leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in. “You do realize that the kitchen window is open, right?” he pointed out. Jack and Marie looked down at their drinks, trying to not look into the kitchen to see if there was any reaction coming from inside. Emma, on the other hand, twisted around to wave at the woman who was staring directly at them. “Hey! We’re gonna go to Vegas instead and get married by a drag Dolly Parton, okay? We’ll send you a postcard!” Marnie couldn’t hold back a snort. “Only Marnie’s invited because she’s fucking cool!” From the room beyond the kitchen, Glen Senior’s large frame emerged and strode toward the doors. She turned excitedly to Paul. “I’m going to fight your dad so fucking hard.”

A dinner plate sized hand opened the doors by their delicate push handles. “That’s enough I think,” he said, his tone clearly warning her of something.

She jutted her chin out at him. “Oh, I’m sorry but was anyone talking to either of you?” she shot back at him. “No.”

His gaze shifted to Paul, who was just sitting there with his eyebrows raised, looking between his father and her. “Paul, you better keep her under control,” he grunted.

In response, all Paul could do was raise his hands to signal he was staying out of it. “He doesn’t control me. Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me?” she cackled, rising from Paul’s lap to stand toe-to-toe with Glen. “Not that I’d expect any less from you, ya big lumbering fucking oaf. Controlling is your middle name.”

“Emma, I think you’re crossing a boundary here that you’d be better off leaving alone,” he muttered down at her. His jaw was much more pronounced than Astrid’s, Jack’s, or Paul’s. Squared off with high cheekbones. Thick eyebrows that were always angled downward. A salt and pepper mustache that was full and reminded her of a 70s porn star. “I suggest you back off.”

“Or else what? Are you going to fucking hit me, Glen?” she jabbed with eyes locked directly on his. The anger that had been building with every story Paul had told her was rising in her gut. She talked so much about wanting to fight his dad, but had never actually thought about what would come out of her mouth in the event it actually happened. “Or did you just save that for the kids?”

“Are you really going to have a girl fight your battles for you, Paul?” he laughed, glossing over the question.

Once again, Paul shrugged. “I’m not the one avoiding questions,” was all he answered as he placed his beer onto the table.

“I’m not going to even give that stupid question the time of day,” Glen scathed, looking back down at Emma. “You are not in any position to talk about my family’s private business, Ms. Perkins. If we were going down that route, we could talk about your sister, the drunk.” The intense look in her eyes faltered at the mention of Jane. “Oh yes, the girl with so much promise who drank her marriage away only to die driving home from a late night stint at--”

“You’ve got a lot of fucking neve, old man,” she seethed, digging her index finger into his chest. “A lot of nerve to bring up my sister. You have no fucking clue what she was going through. You don’t know a thing about my fucking family.”

“She was a drunk with a child and a white trash husband. What kind of person am I supposed to assume she was? You think the town didn’t talk? About her and then the delinquent sister tumbling back in from god only knows where,” he drawled, smirk on his face. “But you’re bringing up my family, so it’s only fair I bring up yours. Clearly neither one of us knows what we’re talking about.”

“Well, I have first hand accounts coming to me. You just have fucking rumors, you abusive ass.” Her brows furrowed and her frown deepened. “You realize you bullied your own kid into constant anxiety, right? You do realize that he never comes around because you are the fucking worst? You have to. Your blushing bride had to fucking guilt him into coming here. He really,  _ really _ didn’t want to because of you and your fucking brood.” He opened his mouth to snap back at her, but she bulldozed over him. “No, you fucking listen to me, you piece of shit. I’m done with you trying come out here pissing all over everyone like some big dumbass dog.

“You’re like a… gigantic fucking child pushing all the kids around on the fucking playground, but guess what, jagweed, I’m not afraid of you. I don’t care what you think you know about me. About my fucking family. Don’t come at me with your tormentor bullshit because bulldoze you and you’re fucking wife will be scraping what’s left of you off the fucking pavement. And if you say anything,  _ anything  _ at all--” She threw her other hand out in the direction of Paul, “--about him, your ass is grass, shit bird.”

“You’re the one with a lot of nerve, Emma. Coming into my house, wearing my mother-in-law’s ring… and Paul, this disrespect--”

“Hah,” she spat out. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, you small, sad man. You think I follow his rules? I’m the master of my own fucking destiny. I don’t need anyone telling me what to do. He’s not here because I need someone to take care of me. I can good and goddamn well take care of myself.” She scowled up at him, chest puffed out. “I stay because I fucking love your son. He’s smart. Like, so goddamn smart you wouldn’t even fucking know. He’s kind and he’s caring, which was his own fucking doing.” For a moment, she paused, thinking about her words. She looked back at Paul for a moment, whose cheeks had gone red and eyes remained wide. “He’s his own fucking person, and you’re mad about it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, little girl.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so little and so scared. Someone needs to help me,” she mocked, shoving his shoulder. “You’re angry that Paul’s coming into his own and he’s taking Jack with him. But guess what, you fuck? You can’t do a thing about it. You’re a sad,  _ sad _ little man. Go crawl back into the hole you came from, you fucking urchin.” He opened his mouth again, face fully red from the pent up anger. “No, we’re fucking done here.”

“You think you can come into my home and talk to me like that, you little--”

She took a step closer to him, staring straight up into his face. “Did I fucking stutter? We’re. Fucking. Done.” Turning on her heel, she walked back toward Paul and hovered just next to his seat. Her hand rested on the side of his neck. It was trembling. When he looked up at her, he could see tears brimming in her eyes even though her expression was still one of rage.

Behind Jack and Marnie, the door slammed shut, causing Paul and Jack to nearly jump out of their seats. Glen’s stomps into the house seemed to reverberate off of the walls. His shouts were incoherent. Somewhere in the house, another door slammed shut. The quartet outside remained silent for a long time. Only the sound of beer fizzing could be heard, but only when the rustling of the breeze against dry leaves let up. 

The air wasn’t tense between them. It wasn’t light or joking as it had been when she first walked out, but it wasn’t angry. It might have been somber. Maybe even a little fearful. Regardless of the exact emotion that lingered around them, the whole mood had become very heavy. Paul and Emma had sat through their share of silences, but more often than not, it was comfortable between them. The quiet coming in like an old friend to be with them. This time, it felt like the silence had come in and they were trying to avoid addressing it.

He tugged her down gently by the waist, and she gladly fell back onto his lap. His eyes were trained forward, staring at nothing in particular, but his hand ran absently up and down the side of her thigh. It was almost as though there were no more words left to say. Like the statements that already had flown needed to be digested before anything else could be said or done. 

She looked over her shoulder across the table. Marnie sat with both hands holding her wine glass, watching Jack stare at the ground. Her green eyes scanned over him, trying to get something--anything really--out of his body language. The frown she wore wasn’t one of anger, just of sadness. Of surprise. It dawned on Emma that she very likely hadn’t been aware.

To be fair, it took Paul a long time to say anything, but she figured that was just Paul being Paul. It wasn’t until late one night when she had been talking about her own parents lacking any sort of parenting skills that he mentioned anything about his father’s oppressive nature. He had tensed up next to her in bed, the absent feather light touches on her stomach had stopped.  _ “My, um, my dad was shitty, too,” _ he started, breath hitching in his throat.  _ “Way worse than mom ever was. She just wanted something to brag about to the ladies at tennis. He… he was demanding and it didn’t even make fucking sense sometimes. Like, he’d give us this impossible shit to do otherwise we were ‘gonna get it’. I played soccer when I was twelve, and I was fucking bad.  _

_ “He told me I had to score at least one goal each game when I could barely catch up to the ball. My brothers were so good at every other fucking sport that I was a disappointment and needed to do something with myself. I came in after the last game of the season. After not scoring one fucking goal. And I was upset because, y’know, he’s my dad. I wanted him to be proud of me. But he… he grabbed me by my face and said ‘Wipe those fucking tears off your face and be a man, Paul.’ Then fucking whack! Just… fucking… slapped me across the face and told me to go to my room and think about being better. It was… it was shocking. I didn’t know what to do. I was twelve. I’d heard him with my brothers. Screaming when things weren’t going right, but shit, I just wanted to read books and stay out of it. But that’s not the Matthews way. We all have to go down with the fucking ship.” _

Jack was the first one to make any noise, and it was a heavy sigh. “Goddamn,” he breathed, turning to his wife and patting a hand on her knee. “I can’t wait to see how Thanksgiving turns out.” Paul let out a single chuckle, and Emma looked back at him. His eyes had fallen back on her, and there was a trace of a smile on his lips. “Emma, where the hell were you like twenty fucking years ago?”

“I was in Hatchetfield, man. Just, y’know, the trashy side. Me the fucking delinquent, and my drunk sister, and her white trash husband.”

“Sounds like fun. I would’ve gone to that block party.” 

She let out a loud laugh and then the silence fell back between them. Paul’s hand had moved from her thigh to resting on her waist. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and see his eyes were just slightly glazed over. Lifting her hand, she traced her fingers over his cheek, and he locked eyes with her. She gave him a small smile, which he returned with the addition of a small peck on the lips. His hand holding his beer bottle raised towards her, offering the bottle to her. She took it gladly, savoring the flavor of hops and peach on her tongue.

“You guys wanna come to our wedding?” Paul finally pipe up, words slurring slightly. “‘Cause I don’t think I want them there.”

Jack rolled his neck, chuckling to himself. “Jesus, who’d’ve thought that Paul would be the rebel of the family?” he joked. He looked over at his younger brother expecting to find some sort of smirk back at him, but Paul’s face was straight, no sign of any sort of fooling around. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“I think we’re just gonna have a few people there. Backyard kinda thing.” They had discussed no such thing, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Although, she was only half way kidding about Vegas and a drag queen dressed as Dolly Parton. “Don’t have enough room for them. Oh fucking well.”

“I accept the duties of best man, my favorite drunken little brother.”

“I’m your only little brother.”

“Yes, but also my favorite little brother.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m gonna write you a speech and it’s gonna make everyone cry. It’ll--”

“You’re uninvited.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Marnie, you can still come if you want.”

“That’s  _ really _ not fair.”

Emma watched on as the brothers dug back and forth at each other as they emptied their bottles of beer and started on another bottle each. The conversation went from wedding guests to an argument over whether or not breakfast cereal was technically a soup or not. Jack’s stance was pro-soup. Paul’s was abso-fucking-lutely not a soup. Then to a debate over who had it worse: the Oompa Loompas in the Wonka factory or Santa’s elves? Paul insisted on choosing whatever side his brother wasn’t taking just so he could argue with him. A sight she had never seen. Paul arguing simply for the sake of arguing.

At some point during their banter, she had zoned out, thinking about Jane and what Glen had said about her. It was something she had heard whispers about, but always assumed it wasn’t true. Then she began to think. Since she had gotten home, she didn’t see Tom touch a single alcoholic beverage. Even on Thanksgiving. Tim always asked her about what she remembered of Jane, almost as if he were looking to paint a new picture of his mother. Maybe there was something to that narrative.

“ _ Listen _ , I don’t get that shit,” Paul’s elongated words drew her right out of her thoughts. “My wife is gonna be such a fucking bitch. There’s nothing wrong with being a bitch. Bitches get shit  _ done. _ ” He turned to her with a grin, handing her his beer before booping her on the nose. “You’re such a bitch, and I like you  _ so _ much. A five foot dynamite bitch. I fuckin  _ did  _ it.” He raised a triumphant fist in the air.

Shaking her head, she took a swig of the beer that had been placed in her hand. “That’s the first time I’ve been called a bitch with such fucking gusto,” she replied as she ran a hand through his hair. He reach up to grab the bottle, which she pulled out of his reach. “I think you’re done for a little while.”

He pointed at her and then looked over at his brother. “See, look at that! Staying on top of my shit.” The smile on his face grew wider when his eyes went back onto her. “And she’s  _ hot! _ Oh my god, I fucking did that!”

Emma turned to Jack. “He absolutely did not. He over-tipped me for a year and a half for shitty coffee that we spit into. Even then, his dumbass friend had to strong-arm him into getting my number,” she explained before returning her attention to Paul. “You didn’t do shit.”

“I did  _ so _ do shit!” he whined.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“I made you start putting your laundry into the hamper,” he stated proudly. 

With a scoff, Marnie chimed in, “You guys are gross.”

Emma turned to her, nodding. “Right?”

“That’s not fair,” Paul interjected. “You’re part of you guys.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think we’re gross because we totally fucking are.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Get used to it, bud,” Jack added, raising his bottle to him. “You’re gonna be gross for the rest of your damn life.”

Paul beamed, his leg bouncing slightly. “I can’t wait.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “What a fucking nerd.”


	31. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul can't go out for Halloween and Emma faces some technical difficulties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is safe and well with everything going on.
> 
> Also there is some mildly sexual content in this one, so do with that information what you will.

“I can’t believe you’re not fucking going,” Emma groaned, standing in the doorway to the bedroom Paul had claimed as his office. 

The room itself was pretty simple. He had his desk up against the wall shared with the door. It was an antique desk they found at an estate sale she insisted they stop by as they passed it. The desk was made of mahogany, at least that’s what she decided it was. An old hand painted wood with a few dings in it that gave a little bit of character. The desk stood on four ornate legs. Hand carved designs that resembled vines and leaves wrapping up towards the top of the piece of furniture. Three bookshelves stood against the adjacent wall filled to the brim with books he had collected over the years. Some he had gotten around the re-reading. Others he just couldn’t bear to part with. The far wall had the small green loveseat she had in her old apartment. It had just stayed in the garage of the old house, taking up space. He decided it was a good addition to the room. It came in handy from time to time because it was nice to take a break when he worked from home to sit and veg on the couch every now and again.

A large unframed canvas hung on the fourth wall. It was his favorite piece of art he had seen her create. She holed herself up the room he continuously called the studio (which she thought sounded pretentious) for an entire weekend with a set of oil paints she dug up out of a box she never unpacked when she moved out of her apartment. He came up periodically to find more shades of red and mauve applied to the canvas. They ate dinner together on the floor despite the stink of paint thinner. When she finally emerged and beckoned him upstairs, he found that the mauves and reds had come together in the shape of a head. It was a face whose eyes were covered by hands that had such movement he could have sworn the person should have continued to rub their eyes with the backs of their hands. It was simple and the brush strokes were hard, but he asked her almost immediately if he could have it. If he had looked away from the painting, he would have seen the furious blush burning across her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I really have to finish these reports for work,” he explained, leaning back in the desk chair. He was already in a crappy stretched out t-shirt and shorts with glasses perched on his face, reflecting the light coming from his laptop. “I really am sorry because… I have no idea what you are, but I like it  _ a lot.” _

She folded her arms over her chest, accentuating the cleavage peeking out from the visible black bra underneath another one of his white button downs. She seemed to like wearing those for Halloween. He had watched her painstakingly twist her hair up into dozens of pin curls to fit under the wig she was wearing. A sleek black bob with blunt full bangs. The black short shorts she used to wear at Beanies had resurfaced for the first time since she was fired, fitting a little more snug than before after some regular gym going. Her efforts had not gone unnoticed. “Have you never seen  _ Pulp Fiction?” _ she asked, one hand freeing itself to add emphasis to her words. Red nails and red lips. He’d seen the red lips before. He remembered them well and how hard red lipstick was to get off of his skin the next day.

“I feel like if I say no you’re going to be mad, but if I say yes, it won’t make sense,” he replied as he folded his hands behind his head.

“Well, I’ll cut out of this party early, and we’re going to watch an iconic piece of cinema tonight, my friend,” she stated, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re going to miss out on grinding up against all of  _ this.” _ She ran her hand up her side from her thigh to the mostly unbuttoned shirt, taking a moment to unbutton one of the last two buttons remaining.

“Pfft, like I’d be doing any grinding on anything,” he scoffed, turning back to his computer in an attempt to ignore the bra that must have been new because he didn’t remember ever seeing it. “Go have fun, Emma. Janis and I are going to hold down the fort here. Make sure no serial killers are coming into the woods to murder me while you’re out.”

Waving a hand at him, she pushed off of the door frame and down the hallway. “You’re no fun, Paul!” she shouted as she ran down the stairs. The floors creaked beneath her feet as she scooted around the downstairs. Keys jingled. “Alright, I’ll see you later!”

“Alright, have fun. Love you!”

“You fucking better!”

When the door slammed shut behind her, he let out a laugh and leaned forward on his elbows. His eyes wouldn’t focus on the spreadsheet on his screen. He had been staring at it since he had gotten home from work the day before. Ideally, he should have had them done Friday before he left. Numbers had stopped looking real, though. Squinting his eyes, he desperately tried to make sense of what was in front of him, but to no avail. Even switching between the windows he had open, changing the scenery in front of him in hopes that he would be able to take in the information. His hands ran over his face after just switching between three windows for almost ten minutes and still making no progress.

He turned around to look at Janis who was perched on the arm of the loveseat. “Should I have gone out, Jan?” he asked, prompting the cat to hop down, cross the room, and rub up against his leg. He reached down and ran a hand over her back. “What do you think, Mama? No? You’d like it better if Mom and Dad were home all the time, huh?”

Janis looked up at him with her big green eyes, purring happily. He wasn’t entirely sure how old she was because he adopted her from a shelter when she already was older than a kitten. They had to have been together for almost a decade already, which shocked him when he thought about it. She had been his companion for almost ten years, and she was still just as spry as the day he brought her home. “You’re a good girl, Janis,” he told her, scratching behind her ears. “I’m lucky to have a little buddy like you.”

“Well, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve  _ ever _ seen.” The voice made him almost jump right out of his chair. He looked up and found Emma standing in the doorway again. This time she had removed the wig and her hair had fallen past her shoulders in tight curls. Pearly white teeth peeked out from behind her red lips, and he felt his eyes going wide. “So good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Um… good news?”

“Good news is we’re going to be spending the night at home together.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“My car finally died.”

“Yikes, that’s really not great news.”

She shrugged and turned to go down the hall again. “Yeah, but I’m not going to start freaking out over it yet.  _ I _ am going to go downstairs and make a fucking drink. You’re more than welcome to join me. I know you’re super fucking busy.” She had just hit the bottom of the stairs when she heard him run to catch up to her. He just about tumbled down the stairs to find her standing there in the foyer with her arms crossed. “Unbelievable. You couldn’t come out because you were too busy, but you’re not too busy to get drunk with me at home.”

Stopping on his heels, his eyebrows raised and lips pursed, trying to come up with some sort of quick response. “I, um, need to take a second to regroup. I couldn’t focus,” he replied, coming out more as a question than a statement. “Yeah, the numbers… stopped really making sense.”

She rolled her eyes and moved toward the kitchen. “Alright, math wiz, let’s make you a drink I guess,” she chuckled, being sure to swing her hips a little more than usual. He leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. There was a lot of work he had to get done, but she, as per usual, was making it difficult on him. After a moment, he lumbered into the kitchen after her, finding her facing away from the entrance.

There were various liquor bottles around her as she dug through the cabinet for the ingredients she wanted. One by one, each bottle that wasn’t what she was looking for returned to the cabinet. All that was left in the end was a bottle of Tanquerey, a bottle that looked more decorative than anything else, and a small bottle of honey. “You ready to get  _ fucked up?” _ she asked with a grin when she turned around to pop into the fridge. The grin was still on her face when she nudged the fridge closed with a lemon in her hand. “We’re going double or nothing on this one, baby!” 

She leaned down again into the liquor cabinet and pulled out a silver shaker that she immediately began to disassemble. When it came to making cocktails, she was efficient. It was as though it were a science. Very calculated. Less like when she cooked, which would often go off recipe very quickly. A dash of this. A pinch of that. She counted the shots of gin she was putting into the shaker very quietly, stopping mid-pour on the fourth one. The expression on her face had changed as she looked into the shaker.

Turning her head, she stared over at him. There was a distant upset in her eyes that he couldn’t exactly place. The shaker turned over in the sink followed by the rest of the shot that was still in the cap, all of the liquor washing down the drain. She dropped all of the pieces into the sink before she wiped her hands on the dish towel in front of her. “Maybe just a glass of wine?” she offered instead. “We’ve got shit to do tomorrow and probably shouldn’t get fucked up tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow at her but shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he told her. “It’s up to--”

She stood in front of the counter again with the cabinet above her open. The wine glasses had yet to be grabbed, but she was just standing there, tapping her fingers against the granite. “Maybe not,” she muttered, pushing the cabinet closed again. Her shoulders tensed as she continued to face away from him. The tapping grew in force, ring clacking against the countertop. Suddenly, she spun around. “Change of plans.”

“Okay?” was all he could utter at her abrupt change in behavior.

The floorboards barely squealed at her light footsteps as she crept around the island to stand right in front of him. She laid a single hand in the middle of his chest. It was a quiet and oddly intimate moment. Feeling almost as though she was trying to feel for his heartbeat. Trying to find something constant and rhythmic to calm her down from whatever was going on in her head. “Let’s just do this without a fucking drink, huh?” 

He looked down at her, finding eyes pleading with him. They read very clearly. Don’t fucking ask. “What are we doing exactly?” he inquired, hoping it wasn’t the question she didn’t want him asking. He figured it was a safe one when a smirk broke out over her face. There she was.

“You’re fucking hopeless,” she grumbled, walking back into the foyer and turning the light that was on over her off as she stepped through the doorway, effectively allowing her to disappear into the shadows.

“That doesn’t answer--” His shirt came hurtling out of the darkness and into his face.

“I’d like you to be coherent when you see the new stuff I got at the mall,” her voice came from the dark. He could hear the stairs beginning to creak as she clearly started to climb them. “Because you’re gonna fucking lose it, and I want to see the dumb, sober look on your face when you do.”

His head went spinning as it usually did when she was in rare form. He was well aware that wasn’t the reason why she had the bizarre change of heart, but he could let it go for now. She’d let him know when she was ready to. At that moment, he was just going to have to drag himself out of the kitchen and up the stairs after her like the struggle it was. He could feel his own smirk growing when he reached the top of the stairway. 

Light peered out from the crack in their bedroom door. He pushed it open to find her laid out across their bed, a la Kate Winslet in Titanic. She was not, in fact, wearing anything new from the mall. She was wearing nothing at all. He grinned, his jaw slightly slack. A single finger gun shot out at him. “That’s the exact fucking face I was hoping for,” she informed him. He began to make his way over to the bed, but she held up her hand. “Shirt off. We’ll take care of the shorts in a minute.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head.

“No, you’re just starting to get abs, and I wanted to look at them,” she teased. “Now get over here, nerd. Tick fucking tock.”

“Okay,” he answered, climbing from the corner of the bed to hovering just over her. Her hair splayed out behind her head. A halo of curls against the white sheets. “Emma, I--”

She pressed her fingers against his lips, a smile still curled over her own. “Don’t pretend you can smooth talk anywhere outside of the bedroom,” she said, her voice low. Her hand lowered while her eyes scanned over his face. Fingers came back up and traced from the corner of his forehead to the top of his cheekbone. Her smile revealed her teeth again. “You know what. Smooth talk the fuck out of me.”

He laughed, a short breathy chuckle. Leaning down, he kissed her lips softly. Then her cheek. His lips lingered at her ear, breath tickling her skin. “I don’t know--” He kissed her neck just below her ear, “--if it’s going to be the smooth talking doing that.”

Squealing, she arched her back as a giggle fit came over her. “You’re a fucking nerd, and I hate you,” she hollered with the same smile on her face. “I can’t believe that--” His lips caught hers mid-sentence, effectively killing whatever she was about to say before it could leave her mouth. Her arms found their way around his neck and pulled him down to her. “That was smooth,” she mumbled into his mouth. “But you’re still a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered back, wrapping an arm around her back. With his free hand, he tugged her on top of him, eliciting a snicker from her. “But you’re the one fucking a nerd.”

“Oh, touche,” she laughed. Her hands rested on his cheeks, pulling him deeper into a kiss for a moment before adding, “That was a good one. I’ll give you that.”

“Nailed it.”


	32. Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul makes dinner. Emma gives him a hard time. But at the end of everything, they are both a couple of nerds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a couple days. I was indulging in some much needed drunken tomfoolery and have emerged feeling rejuvenated.
> 
> Also guys, I'm not going to kill Janis oh my god. I promise. She will be the first immortal cat.

Paul was very excited to marry Emma.

He wouldn’t tell her that, though, because she was very casual about the whole event, but the thought of being married had him buzzing with anticipation. Not marriage in general, however. For the longest time, he thought marriage was out of the question, which was perfectly fine. He was content to live alone in his little house with his cat and his books. The idea of marrying that crabby little barista made his heart swell with joy.

It was something she would never know. Especially since drunk Paul hadn’t been making an appearance as of late. Drunk Emma was also on sabbatical. They would maybe have a beer here and there. Maybe a glass of wine. But she had cut back immensely as of late. Ever since returning from Nantucket. Although that made it very easy to keep his enthusiasm a secret, she had been just a little more uptight every time she took a sip of anything remotely alcoholic.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew she needed to be the one to talk about her sister.

When she told him she was going to have dinner with her brother-in-law and nephew after work on Friday night, he was relieved, hoping that she would be able to get some sort of clarity on the whole situation. The clarity he had gotten just about a year beforehand. He did head Tom’s wishes though, not telling her about anything they discussed after dinner that night. It was difficult for him watching her so clearly struggle internally with the cursory information his father had so delightfully given her.

While she ate dinner with the Houston boys, he and Janis sat at the couch with his bowl of pasta that was coated in a homemade pesto he threw together himself. Emma had shown him how to make it, claiming it was “ _the easiest fucking sauce to make_.” She wasn’t wrong. Just basil, parmesan, olive oil, garlic, and pine nuts thrown in a food processor. His wasn’t too bad, but she always seemed to get the ratio of ingredients better than he did. It was simple enough and made for a quick easy dinner.

Janis sat curled in a ball beside him, purring happily, as he took slow careful bites of his food. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the TV in front of them. A documentary had come up in his recommendations on Netflix, and he decided to indulge since he had the evening alone. It was a tale of a murder centered around a staircase with twists and turns. He was particularly intrigued by the theory that an owl committed the crime. Strange but oddly specific and convincing.

He placed his fork down into his bowl and set it on the coffee table before leaning against the back of the couch before he ran a hand through his hair. Cool metal brushed against his scalp between strands of hair. He brought his hand out in front of his face. A small smile grew over his lips as he wiggled his fingers around, clenching them in and out of a fist.

They had not set a date for the wedding. There was no rush for it, so they hadn’t thought that much about when it would happen. The plan was to just have a few friends and family members come over, and it would just be like a big barbeque. Just dressed a little nicer. And with more music. Small and quiet. That’s what they had decided they were going for. Nothing fancy.

What they had done, though, was peruse local jewelry shops to appease those close to them who were a little more anxious for them to start moving with plans. There were a few stores in Hatchetfield alone. A couple more in Clivesdale, but those guys could go fuck themselves. A few blocks away from Beanies, there was a small shop with ‘Levin & Sons’ written across the front window. Inside, it was small, not that the dark carpet or walls helped open up the space. There were two long cases that created an ‘L’ shape around the right side of the store. On the wall behind them there were shelves that held necklaces, earrings, and rings that glinted in the light that shone on them. Two additional cases were placed in two separate islands on the showroom floor. They displayed a variety of rings in every stone and size anyone could have imagined.

They lingered at the far side of the main display, browsing through the shining pieces. Later, they joked about how many brooches they had for sale. “ _Who even wears brooches? We’re not all eighty year old women getting dressed up to go to church.”_ While they were in the store, though, she found herself wandering around. He carefully made his way up the main display, combing through all the jewelry and trying to avoid eye contact with the man running the shop.

She called him to one of the floating displays, and he gladly ran over to her. He could tell the man was about to try and sell him something, which he was not interested in at all. “ _These ones?”_ Pointing into the glass. He peered in to see what she was drawing his attention to. Two bands. One slightly thicker and larger than the other, which was delicate and dainty even. Silver with the same ornate swirls (which reminded him of vines) as on his grandmother’s ring… well, really Emma’s ring now. He glanced from the rings over to her. She was still gazing into the case, but there was a light in her face that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the spotlights that focused on the jewelry. Her eyes lifted up to him with a grin on her lips. “ _I like them. They’re cool as shit.”_

When he was home alone, he had taken to wearing his to try and get used to the fact that he would be wearing a ring on the daily at some point in time. Also maybe because he might have just been excited. He tried to do it when she wasn’t around to avoid getting shit from her. Janis tended not to judge him. Except for when he would be holding his hand up and it had nothing to do with paying attention to her.

From the foyer, he heard the front door open with its usual groan. There was a rustling and a couple of mutter obscenities, as if Emma were trying to drag something in behind her. “Jesus Christ,” he heard her mumble to herself before the door slammed shut behind her. Most likely courtesy of a foot. “Hey!” she called into the house, the rustling continued in the foyer. He looked at the clock just below the TV before furrowing his brows. It was a little earlier than he had expected.

He listened to her drop whatever sort of thing she had hauled into the house and then when she proceeded to bop around the kitchen. Glasses chimed out in cabinets and on the countertop. A cork came loose from a bottle. A refrigerator door opened. A produce drawer opened and closed followed by the fridge door. The freezer opened. Ice clattered into a glass. Maybe two. Cabinet doors slammed shut. Footsteps closed in on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

Two glasses of amber liquid were in either one of her hands. One had significantly more liquid in it than the other. She handed that one to him. “You’re home earlier than I thought,” was all he said as she walked around the couch to sit with him. He was mildly jealous each morning when he got to watch her get ready for work with relative ease. Her office was minimally casual. Dress shirts and blouses were still a mandatory part of their attire, but jeans that weren’t distressed or light wash were fine. She wore one of his favorite pairs she owned. Dark wash, almost black, with a set of bronze buttons that acted as her fly. High rise that accentuated her hips in some type of way that drove him nuts. Her blouse was olive green with cream colored buttons. It fit loosely around her frame and tucked nicely into the waistband of her jeans. The sleeves were something that interested him every time she wore the shirt or any other with a similar sleeve. They reminded him of bell bottom pants, wide and flowy. He liked that shirt. It was often pointed out to him that he probably liked them because she was wearing them. The thought was solid and could possibly be correct.

She sat down on the couch to face him and tucked her feet underneath her, handing him the glass with more liquid. He eyed it curiously. “I put honey and lemon in for you. I know you can’t handle the straight bourbon, you big baby,” she explained as she took a sip of her own drink. “But yeah, we finished dinner up pretty early, and Tim wasn’t feeling all that great. Just left early.” It wasn’t the full story, and he was aware, but he let it go and took a sip of his drink. Spicy and sweet and tart all at the same time. It slid warm down into this gut.

Her eyes narrowed at him. Well not at his face exactly. Just in his direction. He couldn’t be fully sure what she was looking at. Just that she was amused, or at least, that’s what the smirk on her face was telling him. “What’s this?” She reached out and grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding his drink, which he was taking another sip of. The tips of her fingers twisted the silver band around the base of his finger. His face went bright red. “Forget to take it off when you came home from spending time with your secret second family?” she teased.

“What? No, I was just...I don’t know. I needed to… um, make sure it still fit?” Smooth one, Paul. “Y’know. Just in case it didn’t?”

“ _Uh-huh,”_ she responded, nodding slightly as she released his hand. “Because it really wouldn’t fit after you tried it on a couple weeks ago when we picked it up?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure, that makes sense,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You--” she pointed at him, “--are just a big fucking nerd, you nerd.” He groaned and threw his head back against the couch. “And you _like_ me. Fucking gross. _And_ you want to _marry_ me! You’re a fucking _dweeb.”_ She burst into laughter when his groaning just grew louder in response. Like bells, musical almost. It sounded like a song. One that he couldn’t get out of his head but never wanted to. One that he wanted to listen to on repeat for as long as he could. 

He rolled his neck, so he was looking back up at her, finding her propping her head up with her hand. She was staring right back at him with the smile still lingering on her face. She took another sip of her drink. “Do you just like watching my shame?” he inquired as he leaned forward to grab the remote and pause the murder documentary. He wasn’t convinced the husband was innocent, but the owl was still something on his mind. A mental note popped up in his head to watch the documentary with her at a later point in time. Looking back over at her, he found her still watching him with the same grin on her lips. “What?”

She shook her head, smile faltering a little. “I, um, talked with Tom tonight,” she began, eyes trained on the couch between them. “He told me about some things.” Her head and stare turned upward like she was trying to force tears back into her eyes. “Told me about Jane and all the… _shit_ that went on that last year. I just… couldn’t stop thinking about the shit your dad said--”

“Emma--”

“No, it’s… _okay,”_ she cut him off, holding a hand up to him. “It just didn’t sound like _Jane_ . And I don’t think it was. Not really at least. She was going through so much shit, and I don’t know. She couldn’t do it. I get it. I mean, fuck, I can’t handle most shit.” He let out a chuckle, and she smiled again. “She was still good. Tom kept fucking telling me that like I didn’t already fucking know. She was… _the best._ She could have taken on the world.” She looked directly at him. “He told me about talking with you. Telling you all that.” He opened his mouth to defend either himself or Tom. Once again, she raised her hand only to have it fall onto his knee. “No, it’s okay. I don’t… I don’t care that much. You were just…” her voice trailed off. Lips pressed up against the rim of her glass. “You were just protecting me, which feels really weird to say. Because I don’t need to be protected, but it was still… thanks, Paul. Thank you.”

“Yeah, you got it,” was all he could say. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You okay?”

Her head tilted to the side, like she was trying to decipher his face. A small sad grin on her lips. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she whispered. She nodded to herself. “I’m pretty fucking good.” This time, she pressed forward and found his lips with hers. Just for a moment. A quiet moment. She pulled away, and he watched her fall back into her seat without opening her eyes again. “Wanna know what I bought today?” Her eyes sprang open with a certain spark in them.

“Bourbon?” he guessed before taking a sip of his sweetened drink.

“Nope,” she clucked, biting down on her lip. The lingering sadness had left her face and she was grinning again. “I bought a _dress_ today.”

“Okay?” he replied, arching a brow. It was a little unusual for her to be buying a dress, but it also wasn’t anything to really take note of. Surely it wasn’t something that she should have been so enthused to tell him about purchasing. Unless it was one dress in particular. His eyes went wide. “Wait. Really?” She threw her head back, laughing. “Oh, and you were giving me shit?”

She grabbed his hand again, but with this grab, she pulled it up and pressed a soft kiss against his palm. “Yep, you bet your ass I was and will absolutely continue giving you shit,” she confirmed as she patted his knee and then stood up from the couch. “For better or fucking worse, buddy boy!” Bending over, she grabbed his bowl of pasta and took a bite, humming as she chewed. “Not too bad.” She walked out of the room and back into the kitchen. “We might be able to make a good house husband out of you yet. You’re already an A+ cleaner. Now your cooking is coming along.”

“Funny.”

“I _am_ funny. Thank you for finally noticing.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t know, man. That ring that keeps fucking moving every time I’m out of the house kinda says otherwise.” His face went bright red. She poked her head back through the doorway, amused. “Yeah, be embarrassed, nerd! You _like_ me.” Back in the kitchen, he heard her cross the room and the bowl land into the sink followed by the water running for just a moment. A drawer opened. Silverware clattered. “Try adding some lemon next time.” Her footsteps went back across the room until she ended up back in the doorway. It was only then that he realized he had been sitting there, gazing, waiting for her to show back up. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. “You’ve got it real bad, huh?” Shit. It was wishful thinking.

Making her way back over to the couch, she grabbed her glass off of the coffee table and then took a seat directly in his lap. One arm rested behind him on the back of the couch just above his shoulders. Her face lingered close enough to his that he could smell the bourbon in her smile. “Got me there,” he conceded, eyes locked on her. Scoffing, she leaned away just enough to take another sip of her drink. Their faces came close again, just far enough away that they weren’t touching. This was something she seemed to enjoy doing. Hovering. Driving him insane. Poising herself to tease. 

He bridged the gap between them with a soft kiss. No ulterior motives behind it. Just a kiss. Simple and sweet. Long enough to get the message he was intending to send across to her. He did have it bad for her. _Real bad._ The half-smile of her lips he witnessed upon pulling away read in a similar way, though. She threw her head back again and took her turn to groan this time. “Oh my fucking _god!_ You’ve ruined me!”

She didn’t really feel that way, though. He was well aware of that given she came back in for another smooch. Just as gentle. Just like honey. It was nice to have a moment like this one. They didn’t happen very often because if there was a word to describe her and the way she chose to love, sweet was not it. But she couldn’t hold back the feelings entirely. Sometimes a little saccharine goodness would slip through the cracks. He smiled against her lips. “Fucking _nerd,”_ he mumbled into her mouth.

“Motherfucker, what did you say to me?”

Without another word, he kissed her again, holding on tight to the tender candied moment for just a second longer. 


	33. Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul put up their Christmas tree and then drink a lot of Kahlua.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another lil fluffy guy for you wonderful folks because I missed a couple days in there. Enjoy!

“I bet you can’t guess what my favorite thing about you is,” Emma announced with such confidence she could have been saying the sky was up and the ground was down.

Somehow they had ended up planting themselves at the island in the kitchen. She sat on a stool on the outside, and Paul was leaning against the granite opposite her. Between them sat several empty beer cans, a half empty bottle of cold brew, and an open bottle of Kahlua between them. “Well, you like my nose for whatever reason, so maybe that,” he tried, taking a sip of the dark liquid in his glass. “But you also like my ass because that’s actually getting pretty good.”

Chuckling with a mouthful of drink, she pointed over to him before swallowing. “You’re not wrong. It’s a fine ass,” she agreed. “I mean, neither of those things are my favorite, but they sure are working in your fucking favor.”

He nodded, pinching his face in an attempt to think about what she might like about him. They had just finished putting the Christmas tree up, which was always fun. Not in a sarcastic way either. Christmas classics blasted through the house and they worked together to get the lights wrapped around the tree. He was good to start at the top and she would finish out the bottom. It was a great feat of teamwork. But as was the case the two years prior, they did hit the alcohol as they did it. Their M.O. with tree decorating was to do it the night before Thanksgiving. Neither of them had work the next day, and they didn’t host Thanksgiving so there was no need to worry about hangovers for holiday prep. 

Their most recent drink, as decided by her, was simply black coffee with coffee liqueur (namely Kahlua) in it. He wasn’t much of a sweetened coffee man, but he could get behind this drink. “Man, I don’t know then,” he grumbled, leaning his forehead against the counter. “It’s not my way with words. I fucking know that.” Her laugh tinkered in his head. “Is it the eyes?”

“Another good guess,” she admitted. “But no dice.”

They were spending Thanksgiving alone this time around. Not that she didn’t want to spend the holiday with her nephew because she absolutely did, but the Houston boys were going to the Barnes family’s home for dinner. Tom and Becky had decided to alternate families every other year. Emma and Paul were not in the line up for this year’s family dinner. 

At first, she had been bothered and ranted and raved about Tom basically ditching them but managed to bring herself back and think about what was going on. He was moving on. As much as she hated it, he wasn’t wrong in wanting to move on. Jane had been gone for almost four years. The poor guy had grieved. He had repented. It was only fair he got to live his life even if his late wife didn’t get to carry on with hers.

Instead of a big shindig, they decided to stay in the pajamas all day and binge watch something new on Netflix while they ate junk food all day. If she had to choose a second favorite way to spend a holiday, that would be it. The two of them staying in all day to enjoy one another’s company in a quiet solitude. Popcorn. Chips. Ice cream. Cookies. Just the thought of it was enough to make her giddy.

The image of Paul in that old lingering dream had popped in as they decorated the tree. She thought back to the waning summer a little over a year before. Sometimes the baby would cross her mind. Not often but from time to time. It was the right decision to make. She had been in no place to try and care for a child. He might not have been either. Things were so new. She hadn’t wanted a child, so why did she imagine him holding a little child up to place the star on the top of their Christmas tree.

She watched him wrack his brain for something she might like best about him. His face twisted up in focus, eyes staring off into the distance trying to pull something out of thin air. The truth was she couldn’t pick a favorite thing about him. She loved too many things to just choose one thing. He hadn’t been wrong in all the physical attributes. She did love all of those things. But she also loved the way his face pinched when he was trying to concentrate, like it was in that instance. She loved how he came home and always had an evening chat with the cat. She loved how he would just sit and intently listen to her when she would come home and need to vent about literally anything. She loved how he would blush when she would tease him. She loved how he lit up when asked about a book he had just read. She loved when she caught him watching her.

“It’s how you love me,” she said into her glass without looking at him. He was quiet, waiting for her to follow up her statement. “I don’t know. You fucking… did something to me. I don’t fucking know what it was, but I can’t picture any days without you now. Because I love coming home and you’re here. Or I’m having a shit day at work and I can just text you and you send back fucking gifs of babies and dogs doing stupid shit. Or I’ll get home and be fucking pissed and you don’t poke and prod at me. You just let me stew about it and let me come to you. I just don’t fucking know where you came from, but you just fucking get it.” She paused to take another sip of her drink and gather her thoughts. “You get  _ me.” _

When she looked up, he was watching her. There was a slight smile on his face. Not beaming or shit-eating. Surprised maybe. He was simply watching her as if he was unsure of what to say next. The silences between them weren’t uncomfortable. She didn’t mind the empty moments between conversation because they didn’t exactly feel empty. Just filler space. It was something she had never experienced before him. She usually found herself trying to fill the quiet moments, afraid of what the silence would come with. “Emma, I’m pretty drunk,” he finally said to break the quiet between them. “And that was really friggen sweet.”

“Oh my god.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” he blabbered, holding a hand up in front of him to try to stop her from wherever she was going. She had gone on a short period where she wasn’t drinking, thinking about her sister. How she died in a dark place. Drunk and distressed. But her brother-in-law had assured her that wasn’t her sister. That wasn’t who she was. It was because she didn’t know what else to do. She had to do something to feel better because nothing did. When Emma looked across the counter at Paul, she felt something better than good. She could feel her heart want to soar out of her chest, so she took another sip of her drink to enjoy the yammering drunk idiot in front of her.

“I just have loved you for a really long time,” he explained, trying to get his thoughts in order. “I paid so much money for fucking bad coffee just so I could see you. I remember coming in and seeing you for the first time, yelling at some asshole for being an asshole, and thinking ‘holy shit, I’m gonna marry this girl,’ which is fucking nuts because I had no idea who you were.” He was waving his arm around emphatically for emphasis. It wasn’t the first time he had told her this information, but something about the story made her feel warm. She didn’t remember the first interaction between them. However, she did love to hear his rendition of it. “I had no idea who you were, but I fell in love with you that day. And  _ wow _ now I get to really love you every day. We live together. You fought my dad. You’re like the best friend I’ve ever had and you like having sex with me. Oh my  _ god _ I fucking made it!”

She grinned at him, shooting finger guns in his direction. “That’s my favorite thing,” she reminded him. “This.” She gestured between them. “I love this.” Lifting her glass up to her lips, she took another swig. “I love you. Like a fucking lot. And I’ve never told anyone that before. Not a single guy. I’ve slept with a lot. Maybe dated a few. Nothing this long or this serious because I didn’t fucking want to. It’s easier to not get your feelings caught up in things. That’s what I always thought, and for a long time, it worked. No fucking feelings. In and out.

“But then you and your dumb cute fucking face came in and rocked my fucking world,” she continued on. “I didn’t know what to do at first because I really fucking liked you. I wanted to run for the fucking hills but also, like, make out with you a fuck ton, y’know?” He nodded as if he did, in fact, know. “I found myself falling in fucking love with you, and it was scary as shit, man. Because love never fucking lasts and somewhere alone the way you became my best friend. Then the thought of losing you felt worse than falling in love with you.” The words rolled around in her head. “Not worse. Scarier. It was fucking scary to think about you being gone, and it still does.”

“Well, I don’t really plan on going anywhere,” he said softly, leaning in over the counter to add more cold brew and kahlua to his empty glass. “A.) we have like thirty fucking years on this mortgage. Secondly, I kinda wanna stay as long as you’ll have me, Emma. I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

“See? You love me no matter how hard I try to fucking push away or leave, and that’s amazing,” she reiterated, trying to keep the lump that was rising in her throat under control. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Y’know, you’re really hard on yourself for shit you did in the past,” he interjected after a long glug of alcohol. “I think you think you’re… much worse of a person than you are, Emma Perkins. Because you’re loyal. Like so fucking loyal. My dad is like six fucking six, and you went at him like you were twice his size to defend me. And you’re nice and thoughtful. I think about that five dollar bill all the time. You kept that for how long? I don’t even fucking know.” He leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. “It was so fucking cute, and I just fucking love you  _ so _ much!”

“Hey, Paul,” she said, feeling the kahlua and craft beer swirling around in her head. Everything was starting to spin. He looked back over at her. “Can you just… I don’t know. Can you come over and hug me?”

Walking around the island proved to be more difficult for him than one would have thought. His hip caught both corners that he was rounding, the second harder than the first. By the time he actually made it to her, he was holding his hip in agony and standing at an angle. Partially because of the hip, mostly because of the alcohol. But even so, he sucked up his pain and wrapped his arms around her. His chest was warm and smelled like him. Like spiced deodorant and rosemary. Like waking up next to him. Like the next twenty years of his life.

“Can drunk Paul and drunk Emma have a chat that we don’t tell each other when we’re sober?”

“Hell yeah, I’m fucking  _ wasted.” _

“Do you wanna have a baby?” She shifted her chin to rest in the center of his chest, so she could stare up at him. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open just slightly. “Not right now. Like fucking duh but at some point? Maybe? I don’t know what I want.”

“I dunno either,” he responded, slightly in a daze. “I thought about it once or twice, though. But I think we gotta discuss it when I can see only one of you at a time. I think… it’ll be a more productive conversation then.”

She nodded, shifting and smiling into his stomach. It wasn’t even something she was sure she wanted at that point. Or at any point. She just really liked the idea of being there and doing it with him. The whole family thing. Something else she never wanted. He really was making her so soft and domestic. 

“Em?”

“Mmm?”

“I’ve gotta letcha go ‘cause… I think I’m gonna barf.”

Releasing him, he immediately scurried off in the direction of the bathroom. She heard him begin retching almost as soon as he hit the floor. Carefully, she grabbed the bottle of Kahlua and placed it back into the liquor cabinet before she dumped the rest of their drinks into the sink. She wasn’t drunk enough to think that drinking more was going to do anything good for either one of them. 

From the bathroom, he yelled to her when his vomiting subsided for a moment, “Listen, if you wanna baby, I can put a baby in you! You just say the fucking word, man! Wanna do it right now? I could--” His words were cut off by another round of throwing up.

“Think you missed the seduction window, babe,” she replied, leaning over the sink trying to catch her balance. “We’ll talk about it another day when we’re fucking sober.”

“Cool. Sounds good,” he murmured into the toilet. “Ya can’t see it, but I gave a thumbs up ‘cause you’re so pretty and smart.”

“Keep throwing up, nerd. Then we’re going to bed.”

“Nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to be revving up with some good filler content because chapter 40, I've decided, is going to be a FUCKING DOOZY, so get good and goddamn ready! :D


	34. Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul, Emma, and Tim go ice skating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, hello! Don't be scared. Omg. Stop being scared. I am here for the fluff and the occasional heavy moments where Paul and Emma help each other out of deep emotional trenches.
> 
> Janis will not die.
> 
> I'm not breaking them up.
> 
> Have no fear. Please be happy and not scared!

Emma didn’t want to go ice skating. In fact, she had been adamantly against the idea of doing so, but boy, did Paul ever look disappointed when she went on about how she wouldn’t go. Inevitably, she gave in. She was insistent that it had nothing to do with him being so bummed about not going. Ice skating was something that everyone should try. A sudden change of opinion.

Then her nephew became interested in joining them, and immediately she was on board as if it were her idea to begin with. That is until they actually got out North Shore Skates. The evening worked out because Tom had been looking for a babysitter that evening already. Tim had never been skating before and was understandably shaky. Emma also had never been skating and clung onto whatever she could get her hands on.

Paul stood tall between them, having gone skating with his brothers almost constantly every single winter as a kid. It was the one of the few things from his childhood that he could definitively remember enjoying. He wasn’t as big or strong as any of his brothers, so when they found themselves unable to catch him as he flitted about the ice, it was a relief to say the least. From early on, he was a competent ice skater. Graceful and fast. He joked about how he was aerodynamic, being so tall and skinny. In reality, he was just at ease. It was something that came easy to him. A natural inclination that he never brought up to his father for fear of being shoved into hockey, and his brothers never brought it up either, embarrassed that Paul of all people was better at something than them.

Every grumble from her made him roll his eyes harder. She could have just as easily said she didn’t want to go, but instead had been all gung ho about the outing. There were mutters of how she knew it was a bad idea to come. How she knew she was going to be miserable. How shit she was at skating. How she really hadn’t wanted to come. It was annoying, but nothing that needed to be brought up in front of Tim, let alone a pretty sizable crowd of people.

Tim, on the other hand, was excited. Even after he fell directly on his butt, he got back up and wanted to keep going. The more he muscled through his stumbling, the less stumbling there was to be had. He was full of laughs and smiles and kept saying that he was going to ask his dad and Becky to bring him again the following weekend. Actually he was pretty set in asking them when they came to pick him up from the rink on their way home from whatever appointment they had gone off to. 

When he finally was able to skate off on his own, straying just far enough from them to do a couple loops and then find them again, Paul was left with one very grumpy leech on his arm. “I hate ice skating,” she told him flat out once her nephew had scooted out of earshot. “I don’t get what the big fucking deal is. It’s like rollerblading but colder and worse.” Her face was buried in her scarf and brows were deeply furrowed. “Also you just have thickass knives attached to a boot. Whose fucking idea was that?”

“I don’t know, Emma,” he responded in a monotone voice.

“Clearly it was some asshole who didn’t understand how gravity fucking works,” she scoffed, gripping onto his arm tighter when she felt her feet slip slightly on the slick ice. “I don’t--”

“You don’t like it. I know,” he finished for her as he threw a smile back on when Tim started towards them again. He glanced down at her, smile faltering a bit. “But for someone who doesn’t like skating, you sure were okay with coming here. It would have been just as easy to say no.”

If she had been on solid ground, she would have backed away from him, offended. But in her current state, she just glared up at him for a moment before returning her eyes to the ground in front of her. “I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with Tim. This is what--”

“Aunt Emma! Paul! Watch this!” 

Tim was waving over to them about fifteen feet on. Despite the dig he was trying to direct her way, they both looked up to him with a smile and a gloved thumbs up. The young boy readied himself and then took off quickly through a space between groups of people. He flew into the center of the rink, stopping himself hard and nearly falling over in the process. He remained upright though, much to the surprise of all three of them. “Uncle Paul! Did you see that?”

The name and title combination made them both double-take. She looked up at Paul whose eyes, as expected, had gone wide. Though it wasn’t in the normal ‘Paul is shocked by something’ face. There was something else. Something fond. Something sweet. Something touched. Watching his face break out into a smile almost made her forget that she was annoyed with him for giving her shit.

But when she really thought about the shit she was given, it was kind of deserved. She had been acting like a stick in the mud largely because she was uncomfortable. They were out doing something that she wasn’t good at. Actually, she was pretty terrible at skating. She was ninety-nine percent sure that if she let go of his arm that she would just fall flat on her face. It was something that he liked. Loved maybe. He had been giddy on the way over to pick Tim up, talking about skating out on the lake when he was a little kid. There that giddy look was again, watching something he enjoyed be shared.

“Go on,” she sighed, slowly releasing her grip on his arm. He glanced down, looking confused. Rolling her eyes, she used his body--holding onto his middle as she slowly moved--to stabilize her route to hold onto the wall. “Fucking go,  _ Uncle Paul. _ You’re being called. Onward and upward, you shit.” He reached out and touched her elbow as if to ask her if she was okay. Apologizing for what he had said. She gave him a half smile and nodded towards Tim. “I think he wants you to go out there, Paul.”

His hand lingered for a moment before he glided out to the center of the ice. The way he moved was so easy and light. Not too different from how he was on his feet, though. He was light footed and quiet when he walked around. Sometimes he would end up behind her at points and she wouldn’t know until she turned around and had the shit scared out of her. His movements were quick and precise, weaving between people and out of the way of others who didn’t have as much control as him.

Whatever Tim said to him once he reached him had both of them lit up with grins. Paul lifted a hand to Tim, which received a jumping high five that nearly sent Tim flying to the ground. Arms reached out to catch him in time, although Tim’s face read as instantaneously mortified standing there in Paul’s arms. She was too far away to hear what Paul said to the boy, but the look of embarrassment dissolved into laughs in a matter of seconds. Paul lowered Tim back onto his feet gently, and Tim held onto Paul’s arms to brace himself for having to really balance again.

Even from her distance away she could read Paul’s lips as he asked, “Okay?” Tim nodded in response, but Paul leaned in to catch his eyes. “You sure?” Again, Tim nodded with a smile that Paul gladly returned. She found herself mimicking the grin despite wanting to stay annoyed regardless of whether Paul was right or not. Seeing the two people she cared most about in the entire world (Janis was a strong second place) not only interacting but seeming to genuinely have fun with one another made her heart sing.

Her stomach did a flip when she watched Paul catch Tim again in a moment of clumsiness and they both burst into a fit of laughter. It was like watching a couple of people who had known each other for years. An uncle and his nephew who got along so well. Thick as thieves. But it only made sense that he and Tim would get along. There was no way she would have brought anyone around her nephew who wouldn’t have been anything but wonderful to him. 

Paul was wonderful, she thought. No, she knew it. It wasn’t a thought. It was a fucking fact, that tall graceful asshat.

The man himself was returning to the spot on the wall she had been keeping warm with a look of apprehension on his overly expressive face. “Are you okay?” he asked, stopping at the wall next to her. She looked up at him and into those enormous stupid blue eyes, wanting to fight about something stupid, but it was just that: stupid. “Em?” He reached out and rested a hand on her arm.

Groaning to herself, she averted her gaze from him and dug the toe of her skate into the ice. “You were right,” she murmured, barely audible over all the noise at the rink.

“What?”

“You were right,” she repeated, just slightly louder.

“ _ What?” _

“You were right!” she finally said using the big girl voice they all knew she had. “I was being a shit and… fucking pouting, and it wasn’t right of me to do. And…” Her voice trailed off as she dragged her eyes back up to meet his, expecting to be met with a smug victorious look on his features. But it wasn’t because  _ of course it wasn’t _ . He gave her a soft smile before squeezing her arm. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

With a small sigh, he released her arm before offering his own to her for balance. “It’s okay,” he replied as she took his nonverbal offer. “You didn’t want to do this, and being a good sport isn’t exactly your strong suit. That’s okay.” He set them off at a slow and gentle pace to catch up with Tim. He was smiling and she felt herself doing the same. “That’s what I’m here for. What’s yin without yang, right?”

“Does that make you like the good cop to my bad cop?”

“Oh one hundred percent,” he chuckled. “You can be the Ren to my Stimpy.” That one sent an involuntary snort out of her. He grinned down at her. “Hey, maybe that can be an option for Halloween next year.”

“You’re the one who said it. Better be ready to fucking commit, Matthews.”

“I think I could manage that,” he replied, smiling it a way that read less as his thought about the commitment to Halloween costumes and more of an overarching term. She considered poking fun at him in that moment but refrained. Instead, she pulled herself closer to him, pressing a kiss against his arm

She’d let him have this one. There were plenty of other opportunities to give him crap for the silly mushy shit he said. And he was a good sport about it (thank god), which she realized she didn’t always appreciate in him. No matter what she seemed to throw at him, he always took it in stride. Sometimes he would even have a witty self-deprecating response to throw into the pot. Either way, he kept his cool and just went along with it.

Back when she worked at Beanies, Zoey liked to browse her phone all day. Literally all day. She frequented a ton of astrology pages and shitty poetry Instagrams. They all talked about love forecasts and how the “one” was waiting out there. How there were stupid little signs that your soulmate was coming. How to dissect your crush’s every move by looking at their horoscope. A whole crock of horseshit. 

When she looked at the goofy grin on his face, though, she couldn’t help but wonder about some of the ideas those pages were preaching about. She knew horoscopes were a bunch of bullshit. And that poetry that talked about break-ups and half-smoked cigarettes like they were world ending cataclysms was absolute garbage. There were moments, however, where she wondered about the idea of a soulmate. How that shit would even fucking work.

When she got into quiet moments, she liked to think that if that sort of thing did actually exist she had been lucky enough to find hers. 


	35. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul keeps baking cookies. Emma drinks wine to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that I have much else to say besides the fact that I love Paulkins.
> 
> Also thank you everyone for reading. I appreciate all of you so much and get so excited seeing you guys enjoying. :)

“It’s still really coming down out there.” Emma was wrapped up in a blanket Alice had made them for Christmas. It was thick and soft, perfect for winter. The yarn that was so delicately woven together alternated in big chunks between two shades of grey, mustard yellow, and pale blue. Paul’s and her favorite colors respectively. The blanket really was perfect for the weather. She had always dreamed of a white Christmas, never remembering getting more than a dusting as a kid, but this was getting ridiculous.

Since the night before, the snow had been falling heavily. Coming down in large pillowy flakes that disappeared in the preexisting mounds of white. There was over a foot out on the ground at that point. Probably more. She couldn’t be sure. Just that it was getting increasingly difficult to make out much of anything outside. Also what day it was. Even if she had only been holed up for less than a full twenty four hours.

The rack in the oven clattered while a cookie sheet was pulled from inside followed by a groan. “The cookies are flat  _ again,” _ he complained, trusting the tray toward her. She glanced at the cookies without much more than a shrug before returning her attention to outside. “ _ Emma! _ What am I doing wrong? You keep telling me to fix things, and I do that. I swear to fucking god I do, but it doesn’t change! What am I doing?”

Around midday, she had suggested baking to him. She described cooking as an art. A splash of this there. A pinch of that somewhere else. Less rules as far as proportioning goes. Baking, however, was more of a science. Exact ratios of flour to baking soda. Clear cut in what needed to be done. Something more in his wheelhouse.

But he couldn’t get the cookies to look like a normal delicious cookie.

Not that they tasted bad because it seemed that with each batch came out more delicious than the last. They were all thin and flat discs of sugar and chocolate chips. She had to admit, though, that they were some of the best tasting cookies she had ever eaten. Best looking? Not at all, but the person baking them made up for that plenty. His frustration over his uglyass cookies only added to the cuteness.

“I don’t know, Paul,” she chuckled without looking back at him. From beneath the blanket, her hand jutted out to grab the glass of wine she had out on the countertop. “Maybe five dozen is enough, though. It’s all going to go straight to your thighs.” Over her shoulder, she saw him place the tray on the counter and carefully scoop the cookies onto a wire rack to cook. His face was deep in concentration with a hint of annoyance. “They taste really fucking good.”

“But they look like shit,” he whined as he placed the last cookie on the tray. “I’ve been doing everything you said, and--”

She moved from where she had been standing to sidle up next to him, looking over his hard work. “Sixty cookies. We have sixty cookies that will last us  _ well  _ past the snow storm. Sure, they look like hot garbage, but they’re pretty tasty,” she insisted, looking up at him. “I think you need to give it a fucking break.” His eyes drifted down to the floor, face flushing. “What?”

“We’re just going to be stuck here by ourselves, and… nevermind it’s stupid.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you already started so just finish it, man.”

“No, it’s dumb.”

“You say dumb things all the time, so just say it.”

He rolled his eyes while shaking off an oven mitt. Reaching out, he grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip for himself. “I just want Christmas to be good because I know you were looking forward to going over to Tom’s and--”

“Listen, you couldn’t control this. It’s not your job to fix things that don’t need fixing in the first place,” she explained as she snatched her glass back from him. “I was going to get on Facetime with Tim tomorrow while he opens gifts. The whole Santa thing is donezo, so we don’t need to worry about that. We’ll get some distant interactions. It’s all going to be okay, so just chill out.” Once again, he went to grab her glass, but she pulled it out of his reach. “Get your own fucking wine.”

Which is exactly what he did, and while his back was turned, she broke a piece off of a still hot cookie. It was warm and sweet and gooey despite its flat nature. “I never liked wine until recently,” he quipped as he poured a generous glass of red wine out for himself. “I don’t know what this is, but you’ve got me hooked on it.” He turned around and found her mid-break in the cookie once again. “They’re still cooling.”

“But they’re really fucking good.”

“Get your own cookies.”  
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, and what do you plan on doing with all those cookies?”

“Eat them.”

“All of them?”

“Yep.”

“All sixty? You’re going to eat all sixty of them?”

He placed the wine bottle onto the counter. “Yeah, I’m going to eat all sixty of them, and they’re going to go straight to my fucking thighs, baby,” he told her, doubling down on the fact that the cookies were all his. Completely out of spite, she looked him directly in the eye before grabbing the entire rest of the cookie and shoving it fully into her mouth. Immediately, she knew that was a mistake as she began blowing furiously out of her now open mouth and flailing her hands about. “You deserved that for being a little shit.”

“Da cookies ahre fuckin hawt,” she panted, slapping his shoulder. She chewed carefully as she was able to stand the temperature, and in the process, she flipped him off. “You’re an ass. I’m going to be eating some of those cookies, and you’re going to fucking deal with it.”

He conceded to her easily. Not something that was unusual for him. Compromising was something that had always come naturally to him. It was easy to do, and things had the tendency to go smoother when he did. She did like to pick fights with him, trying to poke the sleeping bear. Rarely would he give into her poking because the majority of the time whatever she was picking a fight about was pretty silly and relatively pointless. Like this cookie thing, which arguably had been started by him. It wasn’t even really a fight. Just playful banter, but things could get twisted.

Fighting wasn’t something he was shielded from. Things were usually tense in his house growing up. Most of the time there was someone who was angry at someone else, or they were just angry with him for existing. At least that’s what it seemed. It was better for him to just stay quiet and low or simply give in when accosted. Maybe that’s what drew him to her initially. She was tough and seemed to enjoy arguing. It was second nature for her to just stick to her guns. Dig her heels into the sand and fight.

At first, it was difficult for him to even consider messing around with her. He was so afraid about either hurting her feelings or bringing her wrath out he wouldn’t even call her out when she did things that would frustrate him. If Paul three years earlier could see the shit eating grin he had on his face as she grimaced at him, he would just about have a heart attack. Then Emma three years earlier would promptly make fun of him and tell him to learn a thing or two from him.

They stood in silence for a moment, just sipping at their wine. Wind outside the house picked up and sang against the bare tree branches. She watched him as his sight line shifted out the window. The rim of his wine glass pressed into his stupid plush lower lip, and his eyes glazed over. An indication that he was zoning out. He was getting older. They both were, in his defense. He looked a little more tired than he had a few years earlier. Faint lines were starting to make their presence known at the outer corners of his eyes. There were gentle indications of wide smiles surfacing on his cheeks. She could have sworn she saw a grey hair a few days prior.

It had been nearly three years since she ran into him outside of Beanies. A few years since that first date at the bar. Since that very first kiss. Sometimes the passage of time felt distorted. Especially with him. Time had not been passing slowly, but she felt like she had known him her entire life. Like tomorrow they could celebrate their tenth anniversary. Like what she imagined those high school sweethearts in movies felt when they looked at their newly rekindled childhood love. He was like coming home after a long trip and finally laying down in bed at home. Warm and familiar. Like a cup of warm apple cider. Like listening to a song that will always hit the top of the list of favorites. 

“Hey,” she said softly, nudging him with her elbow. Brought back to reality, he looked down at her and pulled the glass away from his lips. “Christmas is going to be fine. It’ll be good. Pajamas all fucking day. You, me, and Janis maybe a little Smiths.” He laughed. “Listen, Morrissey could come to our little family Christmas. I don’t mind.”

Family. That term triggered strange feelings of regret and despair in her gut. Twisting around with thoughts of Jane and her parents. Of running and leaving so many things behind. She thought it would be forever, but she was back. And she was… happy? She was content to be stuck in Hatchetfield for the first time in her life because she was realizing that it wasn’t the town that made her feel so miserable. It was the misery that did. She spent so long distancing something that wasn’t even the root of all her troubles.

But there she was. Happy. With her family.

She saw the dumb happy grin that had crossed his face and downed another mouthful of wine in response, rolling her eyes. “Wipe that look off your dumb fucking face right now,” she murmured into her glass, but instead of heading her request, he grinned even wider. “I swear to fucking god, Paul.”

“What’re you going to do about it… punk?” he shot back, though the statement ended a little less certain than it began.

“You don’t wanna know, so I suggest just cutting the shit.”

“Make me.”

She arched an eyebrow and placed her wine glass onto the counter. “Oh yeah?” she replied, moving to stand right in front of him. Actually, she was pinning him between her body and the counter. “What am I gonna do about it, huh?”

Rather than the response she expected, he returned the arched brow right back at her, still grinning. “Yeah,  _ punk,” _ he whispered, getting closer to her face. She felt her face flush red. “Hmm?” No answer. “Okay, then.” In one swift movement, he lifted her up and over his shoulder and began to walk into the foyer.

“Paul! Cut. The. Shit!” she hollered through bouts of laughter, lightly banging her fists against his back. He rounded the corner of the stairs. “Paul, we left the wine--”

“It’s not going to grow legs and walk away,” he replied, shifting her weight on his shoulder as he climbed up the stairs. “We’ve just gotta wipe that look off my face really quick, and then we’ll be back for the damn wine. I also have to perfect those cookies, so we can have a  _ family _ Christmas with not gross looking cookies.”

“You’re a fucking piece of work.”

“What kind of work? Blue collar? Retail? Hard labor.”

“I’ll show you hard labor.”

“Promise?”

“Fuck you.”

“ _ Promise?” _

She couldn’t hold back her laughter that morphed into a squeal when he tossed her onto their bed.  _ Their _ bed. This was theirs. All of it. Well, technically it belonged to the bank, and they could live there while they paid it off for the next thirty years. But still. Theirs. Their lives.

The snark momentarily dissipated when he crawled over her. Tips of his fingers ran down the side of her face. He looked at her, eyes scanning over her face. Gentle feather-light touches. Barely there tracing along her jaw. “You and me, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss down on her cheek.

There was no denying the squirming  _ baby _ left with her in the rare, often in bed, times it was used. It wasn’t his normal style, which was solely uncomfortable most of the time. This was too smooth. This was distracted by his penis Paul. “Who are you and what have you done with, Paul?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and poking his nose. He dropped his head as he let out a breathy chuckle. “Sexy Paul is way too fucking smooth. Don’t let regular Paul know.”

“I’ll keep it on the D.L.”

“Good, now get back on in here, sexy Paul. We’ve got some goddamn business to take care of before you make another fucking batch of cookies.”


	36. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul watch a bad movie and pass out on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah! I don't have much else to say besides stay safe and well!
> 
> Remember that wellness also means your mental health, too! Make sure to take care of your mental state during this quarantine as well!

After the third day of snow, time began to lose all meaning for Emma. The snow had to have accumulated to two and a half feet at that point. It was a true blizzard. Suddenly, all those years wishing for a white Christmas felt they had all come to a head, and now everyone was being punished for it. To be fair, though, she didn’t feel very punished. Mildly disappointed, but not punished.

They had plans to go over to Tom’s house and be with Becky, Tim, and him while Tim opened up gifts and for a late brunch.  _ Brunch.  _ The thought of it made her want to gag. What kind of middle class suburban white lady had she become? What was next? Baking a delightful array of quiches? Fancy little tea cups for espresso? Bottomless mimosas? Actually, the idea of bottomless mimosas didn’t bother her too much. She could get into bottomless mimosas, but she seriously doubted that Becky’s brunch would have anything in that vein. And for good reason. She was starting to work on being patient with Tom even though he was still an insufferable asshole, but so was she sometimes. They had a little more in common than she wanted to admit. Still wasn’t even ready to admit. She was working on it, though.

After Tom’s, they were slated to hit the Hidgens fortress for a late lunch. It was really just an excuse to not let him spend Christmas alone again. Every year, he would be sure to bring her a small gift. Nothing too fancy or too much. Usually something practical. One year it was an electric can opener after she had incessantly carried on about how her manual one broke in the middle of opening a can of beans. The next year he turned up with a set of canvas grocery bags and reusable mesh produce bags after she went on a tangent in the middle of class about the waste plastic grocery bags produced. Just the year before he had gotten her a variety of seeds that were neatly labeled as to what they would grow and when they should be planted. He wasn’t an overly sentimental man, but he listened. He was there. He cared about her.

It was an odd phenomenon. Being in Hatchetfield surrounded by people who cared about her. The idea of it sometimes made her squirm still. She would still have dreams on occasion about the spectacular beaches in Guatemala. The beautiful forests. The amazing local food. She wondered every now and again what it would have been like had she stayed. If Jane hadn’t died, she probably would have. She would still be drifting from place to place. Person to person. Figuring out where she was going each day when she woke up. There was a part of her that missed that uncertainty. The spontaneity of the life she lived in her twenties. 

At some point toward the end of their evening, she and Paul had fallen asleep on the couch. The lights were all turned off as they had been when they settled in to watch  _ The Humanity Bureau _ , which had shown up on a list of terrible Nicolas Cage movies on Netflix that she insisted they watch. Although it had been her idea, she was pretty sure that she didn’t even make it twenty minutes in before falling asleep. She wasn’t positive on what time it was at that moment. Soon enough after they started for it to still be dark but late enough for the TV screen to have gone into sleep mode. 

On the opposite end of the couch, he had fallen asleep, head leaning back against the arm. A large blanket--a comforter that had been on the bed in the guest room--laid atop both of them. Their legs met in the middle, tangled up together. He snored lightly. Laying her head back on the arm on her side of the couch, she shook her head and attempted to do the same to the smile that was lingering on her face.

He was predictable. There was nothing spontaneous about Paul. Even proposing wasn’t his idea. It was something that just plopped into his lap. He liked to eat ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch most days and plain toast and eggs for breakfast every weekday. He drove his Prius and would likely drive it until it couldn’t drive anymore. Then he would get an equally boring hybrid sedan. He liked his black coffee and a nondescript beer, and that was him. That was Paul. Plain old Paul. The most average and normal person she had ever met.

Sometimes, though, there was nothing wrong with normal or predictable.

He was special. Most of the time, he was ready to be level-headed, wanting to look at things objectively. He was thoughtful and knew which pillows she liked in particular and always made sure to put them on her side of the bed. He knew exactly when to push her to talk about what was going on in her head and when to just let her stew and take care of things in her mind herself. He managed to not only deal with but keep up with her bullshit. He just got her. This big gangly boy had tipped his way into her heart. No one since Jane had successfully done that.

There were times she wondered if Jane drove a Prius at some point.

She slipped off of the couch silently and tiptoed across the floor to the back door, which had a soft glow emanating from it. The wood was cold through her thin socks. Beneath the blanket, it had been warm. Out by the door, the air was cool almost as if there was a draft. She wrapped her arms around herself, still wearing the same tattered sweatshirt from her brief first stint at college and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants.

Outside, the snow had finally let up. A slick glittering span of white spread as far as she could see. There was no pond or yard. It was just a sea of untouched snow. It was the sort of night that was so quiet the world must have been sucked into a vacuum. That time must have stopped. No creature was stirring. Just a winter wonderland. Between the trees, a half moon peeked through, shining off of the crystals that covered the ground.

“What time is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find him rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Don’t know,” she replied quietly before looking back outside. “It stopped snowing.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, clearly still basically asleep. “Good.” His hands fell back to his sides. “How was the movie?” A big yawn sounded from him. Loud and a little uncharacteristic of him, but to be fair, it was the middle of the night and he had been sound asleep. 

“I don’t know. Probably shit,” she guessed. She took one last look out the window. Taking in the beautiful peacefulness that wouldn’t quite be the same in the morning. The ground seemed to be dusted in stars. Twinkling in such wonder she was trying to decide if it was real or if she was still passed out on the couch. It was as though the moon were trying to remind her that beauty could exist outside of something exotic and exciting. Usually it wasn’t necessary to fly across the world to find something beautiful. To find happiness.

Sometimes happiness was half awake after passing out on the couch during a shitty Nicolas Cage movie.

She walked back across the room to the couch, lifted up the blanket, and curled up against him. “Don’t you want to go up to bed?” he muttered, but he wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her to his chest. 

“No, let’s stay here,” was all she said, tracing a finger along his hip. She shifted her neck to look up at him. He was staring back at her with one eye open. “What?”

“You’re being weird,” he grumbled as his eye slid shut. “That’s normally my thing. You okay?”

“Sorry to step on your toes,” she laughed lightly. She patted his chest before laying her head against it, listening to his heart gently beat. Steady. Like a metronome. A constant even beat. Calming. “I’m good, though.” A smile spread across her lips as she listened to the bass rumble in his chest when he hummed in response to her answer. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he mumbled, pulling her closer to him. “I’ve gotta go back to sleep, though, Em, as fun as you being weird in the middle of the night is. So goodnight.”

At some point, she fell asleep with him, huddled together on the couch. The wind kicked up outside, whistling against the siding of the house. A soft stream of snoring came from him. Somewhere in the house a baseboard heater kicked on with a click. A beautiful soundtrack to fall back asleep to, all playing behind the heartbeat that had wiggled its way into her soul.


	37. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little blast from the beginning featuring Ted and some shitty coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, was this one fun. I hope you all enjoy.

_ before _

All things considered, when Paul “asked” Emma for her phone number, there was no reason for her to have given it to him. Not really at least. 

It had been a bright day. Sunny but chilly. Unlike the days that had led up to it. The rain had really brought the temperature down to one more reasonable for February. Beanies was hopping as per usual on a cool Friday evening. She had the closing shift  _ again _ because  _ Zoey _ and her little theater friends had to go to a rehearsal for whatever the fuck musical they were in that week. Leaving her to handle the rush hour mob by herself. Fucking typical. The only positive to being stuck there by herself at the end of the day was getting to hide that godawful “tip for a song sign”. She was sure that all the Tinder and OkCupid couples that were awkwardly making it through their coffee dates would thank her.

She had finally made it through her line when she heard the bell at the front door jingle. Internally, she groaned, but that was how it always went. As soon as she cleared out a seemingly never ending line of customers, another group would shuffle their way in. So is the plight of the retail worker. Professor Hidgens liked to remind her that there was no rest for the weary, which was not a comforting sentiment because she was weary as fuck.

When she looked up from the counter she was wiping down the first person she noticed was the black coffee guy. The one she had met out in the rain a few days earlier. Their first interaction that took place outside of Beanies. Literally outside of the store. He looked a lot less like a sad wet puppy this time around. His hair wasn’t washed into his face. In fact, it was just slightly styled enough to tell there was a small amount of product in it. The suit looked better dry, although it was much less dressed up than when she would see him in the morning. Jacket draped over his arm, the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up as if it had been warm outside. She knew it wasn’t, but he gave off the illusion that it could be. 

Why was she watching him so intently? This weird man who came in and over-tipped her every single time she served him and occasionally made endearingly awkward small talk. Clearly, this poor man was trying desperately to hit on her, but it wasn’t working out so well. She was only there to supplement her already shitty pay and make it through community college. So why was she fixing up a cup of black coffee for this tall gangly suit?

Beside him was his mustached friend. At least she was pretty sure they were friends. She could never tell if that was the case because Mr. Black Coffee was constantly rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw whenever Mustache was around. On the other hand, Mustache always seemed to be paling around with Black Coffee. Nudging him with his elbow whenever he made a terrible joke or somehow never having to pay for whatever overpriced drink he ordered when they came together.

On this day, though, Mustache looked like he was running out of patience with Black Coffee, talking in harsh hushed tones. With a shove, the tip guy was thrust into the shop. He was holding a piece of fabric beside him. His hand was clenched tightly around it in a fist. Whatever he was holding was green. A familiar shade of green. “Hi, how can I help you?” she addressed as the two men approached the counter. As if she hadn’t already poured a cup of fresh black coffee. Luckily for him, the pot had been put on about twenty minutes before they walked in, so it was saliva free. 

“Just a black coffee,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. His cheeks were tinged pink. He was more bashful than normal. Maybe it was Mustache’s fault. “Not too bad.” She couldn’t stop the smile from crossing her lips as was the case with most of the stupid shit he said. Nine out of ten times it garnered at least a light chuckle from her. At the very least she found herself grinning at him. 

“And a chai iced tea!” Mustache called to her as if she wasn’t standing right in front of them. Black Coffee glared over him as if he needed any further reason to feel embarrassed. “Hey, where’s the song sign?” He peered over the counter to see if he could find the sign somewhere back there. “What the hell? Paul, do you see it over there?”

“I don’t know, Ted,” Black Coffee grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “But I’ve got a fucking headache and can’t deal with you being an ass right now.”

“Oh, am I embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend?”

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up, Ted!” Black Coffee--Paul, from what she was gathering from her eavesdropping--hissed at his equally tall buddy.

Mustache--A.K.A. Ted, she assumed--rolled his eyes as she placed the chai into his hand and slid the black coffee across the counter. “Jesus Christ, you fucking numb nuts,” he groaned before turning his attention to her. An incredibly sarcastic smile formed on his lips. “Hello, crabby Beanies barista. My friend--”

“We are  _ not _ friends.”

“As I was saying, my…  _ associate _ here has something he’s been holding onto for you,” he continued, only minorly acknowledging the other man’s comments. When Paul didn’t move, Ted groaned once again. “Give her the fucking thing, you goddamn noodle!”

Like a bashful child, he threw his arm out above the counter towards her with the green fabric in hand. She examined it curiously for a moment before her face lit up. “Holy shit,” she gasped, snatching the material from his hand. “Where the hell did you get this? Nora was going to deduct the cost of this fucking thing out of my pay!”

“You, um, left it behind the other day. Y’know… when it was raining. It, uh, fell out of your pocket,” he blabbered, tripping over the words. His eyes fell to the floor and his hands flew into his pockets. “So I, um, grabbed it and… yep, here it is. There ya go.”

“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking hopeless,” Ted mocked before turning back to her. “Paul, ask her what her damn name is.”

“What? I--”

“I am sick and fucking tired of getting this shitty fucking coffee,” he told Paul firmly. To be fair, though, he didn’t even get coffee most of the time. It was usually some excessively sweet iced drink. “I just want to get Starbucks like a normal fucking human, so please, for the love of god and all things holy, just get your shit together, man. Ask her what her fucking name is.”

Paul took a deep breath in and held it, looking back up at her. He had these huge fucking eyes. She hadn’t really taken note of them before, but wow, they were big and wide with either fear or he was about to vomit. “So, um, what’s… I’m sorry. What’s you… fuck… what--”

“Emma,” she interjected. It was just cruel to let him go on like that. “I’m Emma.” Why was her heart beating so fast? Was she having a heart attack? “And you’re…?”

“Paul!” he responded quickly. A little too eager. “I’m… my name’s Paul, and, um, yeah. I’m Paul.”

Ted slapped his hand against his forehead. “Fucking get it together, Paul,” he pleaded. “‘Hi, my name’s Paul. Could I please get your phone number, so I can finally stop fucking torturing all my co-workers with this garbageass coffee? Because I’ve been coming to this dump just so maybe I could ask you out.’” He looked over at her. “Please, for Christ’s sake just give him your number.”

She looked to Paul, whose eyes were wide and staring off anywhere but at her. “Is that so?” she inquired, leaning across the counted. He was a painfully normal, average kind of guy, but she couldn’t chase away the fluttering in her stomach as he squirmed around when their eyes met. Maybe she was just enjoying torturing him and maybe torturing Ted, too. “Are you trying to woo me, Paul?”

“What? I, um,  _ no…  _ I don’t know. Maybe… no…  _ um _ . He’s, um, a real shit, but I just like a damn good cup of coffee. And I don’t want to give my money to some corporate chain either, y’know? Plus, it’s nice to come and chat in the morning, right? Right,” he yammered on, eyes shifting between Ted and her. His shoulders fell, and he looked right at the ground. “But yeah, that too I guess.”

“God, you’re fucking hopeless,” Ted sighed before turning to leave. “You’re paying for coffee, you hopeless shitbird.”

Biting down on her lip, she stifled a laugh. Paul’s face was bright red at that point. Lit up like a fucking neon light. At his sides, his hands were curling in and out of fists. Nervous. Always such a ball of nerves. “Give me your phone,” she instructed, nodding toward him. His eyes widened and found her. Big and blue on her own shit brown eyes. “C’mon, Paul. I’ll get him off your back.”

His face fell slightly. “Yeah, right,” he replied, rummaging into his pocket to fish out his phone. An iPhone slid across the counter to her, unlocked. She tapped into his contacts and added her number under ‘Crabby Beanies Barista’ with a coffee and heart emoji next to the name. She kicked herself for the flush that burned across her cheeks when a broad grin spread across his lips upon reading it. “Thanks. It’ll be better not catching shit from him all the time. I appreciate it, Emma.”

“Hey, you’ve tipped me enough that it’s only fair I do you a solid,” she replied. They both laughed at her words. A shallow, anxious laugh from both. What the fuck was wrong with her? “You have any plans next Friday night, Paul?” What the  _ fuck _ was she doing?

“I, um,” he stammered, shoving his phone back into his pockets. “I don’t think so. I don’t… No,  _ no _ . I don’t have any plans.”

“Would you like to get a drink with me?” Who was this person speaking? Inside, her brain was screaming at her to stop while her heart tried to stifle its warnings and push her to go on.

He swallowed hard. “I would like that very much,” he replied with his voice going high. He cleared his throat as he pulled out his wallet and handed a bill to her. Without looking at it, she twisted it between her fingers, not taking her eyes off of his beet red face.

The smile on her face lingered despite her internal reservations. “Alright then,” she replied. “How about Mercer’s? Seven o’clock?” He nodded furiously, squeezing his wallet in his hand. “Okay, it’s a date then.”

“Mhm, a date,” he repeated, eyes wide still. “A date, yep. Okay.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. I’m okay,” he insisted as he placed his wallet back into his pocket. “Well, you have a good weekend, Emma, okay?” She chuckled, nodding. “Okay.” He turned around to leave. His face peeked back over his shoulder to wave goodbye to her. She returned the wave. “Okay.” The door jingled when he pushed it open. “Okay.” Through the window, she watched the look of terror morph just a little into shock and then into disbelief. A tiny smile grew on his face, and she could tell he just muttered another ‘okay’ to himself.

Shaking her head, she took a look at the bill in her hand. A twenty. Their order was maybe eight dollars tops between the two drinks, so before the end of the night, she was sure to grab her extremely generous twelve dollar tip and slipped it into the pocket of the second apron she had been wearing. The rest of the night went just about as expected. By eighty thirty all of the coffee dates had ended, and she was left with just a couple of college students and writers who sipped lazily on their cold lattes and half melted iced teas. 

At nine, she shooed the final lingering patron and locked the door behind them, so she could wipe down the tables and chairs. The cold shitty pastries went into a bag that ultimately went home with her. The food was terrible, but it was going to go to waste otherwise. And she was never in a place to deny free food. 

She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket before she began to do her final clean up of the counters, blenders, and the like. The radio that played softly all day had turned off on its timer, and it was a little creepy being there in silence by herself. A notification popped up when she turned the screen on from a number she didn’t recognize. She opened it.

_ Hello, Crabby Beanies Barista. It’s Paul. I just wanted to make sure you don’t want flowers or something next week. It’s Valentine’s Day. _

Oh,god. What had she done?

_ hi please god no. i don’t want that shit. just buy me booze we’ll call it even. _

This was a mistake.

_ Okay good. I’m not good at that kinda stuff. I can do booze. Cool :) _

Why was she smiling? This was not good. The feeling in her gut felt like a mistake, but she kept smiling anyway. 

_ see you friday. i swear if you bring flowers i’ll punch you in the gut and run away. _

She dropped her phone onto the counter and began to wipe down everything with a rag that looked like it had seen better days. Her phone buzzed two times, and she chose to ignore it just in case she would have to find a creative way to turn down this poor sap. God. Valentine’s Day? What was she thinking?

Unlocking her phone, she nearly burst out laughing at the response.

The first message was a gif of a very bearded Bryan Cranston saying “Oh dear god,”

_ No flowers. Got it. So romantic horse-drawn carriage ride isn’t off the table then? _

Over text, he obviously was not nearly as timid.

She responded with a gif of Will Arnett leaning his head against prison bars saying “I’ve made a huge mistake,” and almost immediately was greeted with another featuring David Cross completely painted in blue while wearing a suit uttering, “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

Oh man, she was in trouble.


	38. The Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have some late night pillow talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho, I'm having a lot of fun writing some earlier Paul and Emma. I forgot what a treasure awkward early relationship Paul is.

_ before _

When Paul got a text from Emma well after nine o’clock at night to come and help her out after getting locked out, he didn’t think twice about going and grabbing her. Even asking her to come and stay with him seemed to be second nature for him. Although the second the words came out of his mouth, he began to panic about whether or not it was too soon for him to be asking that. 

But he woke up the next day with her in his bed.

The next day was a loose term. It was definitely still the middle of the night. His room was entirely dark even with his eyes already adjusted to the lack of light. Initially, he wondered if he was waking up from a wild dream. They had been dating for a few months. To be exact, it had been one hundred and three days since their first date on Valentine’s Day. The date was his favorite day he had in the last decade. It still made his stomach do somersaults when he thought about it.

The last date he had been on was during his junior year at college. Jessica Saunders was a nice girl. He liked her. She lived next door to him in another apartment on campus. His roommate was friends with her and told them both that they’d make a good pair. For all intents and purposes, they did. Things were comfortable. She was nice. He was respectful. It worked for a while. They had gone to the diner one night after finals and sat in the same booth they always chose. He paid for the bill. She burst into tears. By the time he got back to his apartment, he was single again. All he did that night was stare up at the ceiling. She had been unhappy. He did nothing about it, but he wasn’t sure that he could cure her discontent when he felt a little empty himself.

He and Janis had lived by themselves for a number of years. That worked for him. He was fine with his take out and frozen meals. It was comfortable and safe. His girl would never break his heart. Maybe she would break a glass if he left it too close to the edge of a table, but she never threatened to hurt his feelings. Bill thought he was depressed. Alice did, too, but he was sure that wasn’t the case. He didn’t feel  _ sad. _ He owned his own home. He loved his cat. His job paid him well enough. He was content with the routine. The life he had created for himself was predictable and monotone. Just what he wanted. Something normal.

Emma, though, was anything but normal.

Even when he didn’t know her name, she had come into his world and splashed color all over his black and white life. God, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He was feeling excited to get a cup of shitty burnt coffee every day just to talk to a moody little barista. The thought of her made his brain short circuit. Just wanting her made him want to sing, which was a very strange sensation for him. 

Having her curled against his side, completely fucking naked, felt like he was living out some weird vanilla fantasy. 

His fingers ran down her spine, an action he hadn’t consciously thought about doing, and he felt her shift. He sucked a breath in and held it, praying he did not wake her up. “Hey,” she muttered, voice gravelly. An arm wrapped around his middle. The breath he was holding slipped out very gently, so he didn’t give away the fact that he was still so goddamn nervous.

“Uh, hey,” he replied, kicking himself for stuttered over one fucking word. She reached around and grabbed the hand that he had yanked away, pulling it back to rest on her side. “Okay.”

Her chuckles carried through the darkness. His heart pounded in his chest. The mattress creaked as she moved to drape herself half over him. She traced a finger over his chest. “This okay?” she whispered. God dammit, his entire body had tensed up not because he wasn’t okay with what was happening but because he was incredibly taken aback. He hummed in response, wrapping his arm around her back. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating. “What’re you thinking about?”

“If I’m hallucinating or not,” he admitted. More laughter. “I’m serious. I think this might just be like… a super vivid dream or some shit.” She patted his chest as her laughs died down. “I don’t know why you’re laughing like it’s a joke.”

Chin moving to rest on his chest, as though she was looking at his face, she was quiet for just a moment. Like she could see him in the pitch black. He was thankful she couldn’t because his face felt like it was on fire. “I hope it’s not some kind of… shared hallucination or some shit like that because that was…  _ good,” _ she drawled, her voice low. Oh thank god she thought so, too.

“Yeah?” he couldn’t help but utter.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Paul,” she told him. Her tone had shifted. Almost like a promise. Like she was trying to convince him. It made his heart twist a little bit. “And shit, between that mouth and that dick oh my  _ gooooodddddd.” _ He finally let out a laugh. A genuine belly laugh. “What? Now you’re fucking laughing at me like it’s a joke. Like I had a lot of theories about what that would be like, and some came close. But goddamn, Paul.”

“Well, that’s a first having someone say something like…  _ that,” _ he chuckled. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He could definitely list each person he had slept with. First and last name. Hair and eye color. Birthday maybe, too. There weren’t many, and that never bothered him. But there wasn’t usually any feedback. Just rolling over and going to sleep. Or gathering clothes and leaving. Or being asked to do just that.

“Really?” she mused. “No one’s ever complimented you on your very capable mouth, big dick Paul?”

His breath hitched in his throat, stunned by the words he was pretty sure he heard come out of her mouth. “I’m sorry?” he sputtered.

She cackled, pressing a kiss against his chest. “You fucking heard me,” she mumbled, creeping up toward him. All he could do was lay there wide-eyed. “You haven’t gotten that one either? Come on. Don’t go shitting me, Paul.”

“No, I absolutely have not fucking heard that one before.”

She hummed, obviously amused. A hand grabbed his chin and held it firmly. “Paul, you are a very talented and courteous lover,” she stated, voice going flat as she shook his head around. “And your dick is above average in size. You can trust my judgment on that one… well, on everything. You’re a damn good lay.”

“I’m glad?”

“Yeah, me too,” she sing-songed in agreement. “We should do this again sometime.” Her hand released its grip on his chin before trailing down his chest, fingertips dancing across his skin. “Sometime soon, I think.”

“Only if I get a post-game pep talk like that, coach,” he responded, filter coming down for a moment. She made his brain do weird things. Sometimes he felt like everything was jumbled, and he couldn’t think straight. Other times he felt like he was at his sharpest and might even be able to keep up with her. Regardless, he loved how she made him feel. Like things weren’t so great when they were predictable. That a little spice in life made things exciting. He felt a fire he couldn’t remember feeling… well, ever.

Before he could make any other quips, she was on top of him, kissing down his neck. “Only if you have as good of a game as that, kid,” she hummed against him. He let out a breathy chuckle. His hands found her hips as her teeth found his skin. An involuntary groan snuck out of his throat. “On, you’re going to be fun, huh?”

“I mean,” he breathed, trying to gather his thoughts. “If it keeps you coming back, I can definitely be fun.”

“To think I could have been holding my standards higher. I’ve been coming back for the awkward jokes and the cute face.” He found his chin held in the palm of her hand again. “God, I’m glad you have such a fucking tolerance for shitty coffee.” Her lips crashed against his, and he found himself melting into her. 

Honestly, that was the most romantic thing she had said in the three months they’d been seeing each other. She wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, but she seemed to like him. She kept coming around and didn’t leave before he woke up. Her hair tickled his face as it fell around them, and they both laughed when she had to fish it out from between their mouths. His hand found a fistful of her hair and pressed her deeper into the kiss.

He had never done that before. Laughed in the middle of any sort of sexual encounter. It was always a very serious almost clinical affair each time he had slept with someone. The deal was go in and do the deed and then go to sleep or leave. There was no need for laughing or talking. Grunting. Groaning. Moaning. Screaming. But she was  _ fun.  _ She wanted him to be fun, too. And good lord, was it fucking fun. He felt like each time she touched him his body was coming back to life.

As he rolled on top of her, a small giggle coming out of her, he held her close as an epiphany hit him: he had most definitely fallen in love with her already.


	39. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has a lot of thoughts about Paul and Hatchetfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three in one day, fam. I'm feeling gr8.
> 
> Also my qween Lauren responded to a comment I made on one of her Instagram posts, and I'm pretty sure she laughed at my joke. I'm feeling like a big deal. (and my bisexual crush on Lauren Lopez is THRIVING right now)
> 
> P.S. this chapter is meant to be the aftermath of chapter 6. :D

_ before _

Paul’s house was so quiet, and his bed was so soft and warm. Emma loved being there. She had spent the better part of her summer there, falling asleep and waking up next to him. Returning after a long day at work or a long night of summer classes, and he was there. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the warm months. The more she got to know him the more dread built up in her gut.

This motherfucker had wormed his little awkward way into her heart.

When she returned to Hatchetfield, she wasn’t truly planning on staying forever. She did want to connect with her nephew and maybe iron things out with her brother-in-law. The plan was to get the college degree and build a relationship with her nephew before she would leave the island and go to build her own pot farm. It was a lucrative business to go into. Weed was the future after all.

Enter: Paul.

She had taken notice of him when he first started making regular appearances to buy coffee from her specifically. Either he didn’t come in when she wasn’t there or he didn’t tip anyone else nearly as generously as he did with her. Then they started going on dates. It didn’t take long for her to be charmed by his somehow strangely captivating awkwardness. He stumbled over his words, told shitty jokes, and blushed all the fucking time around her. Somewhere along the way he became her boyfriend. Her big dumb doofy boyfriend.

Suddenly there was a reason to stick around Hatchetfield even if it was just for a little while longer. Relationships never lasted too long for her when she got into them. Whether she left or they were pushed away, the time was destined to be limited. However, every time she attempted to self-sabotage, he sat down and his patience grew. He had continued to see her even when she was consistently teasing him, maybe even bordering on harsh at times. He picked her up when she had stupidly left her keys behind at work when he could have just as easily said he was trying to get to bed. He brought her to meet his shitty, shitty family. No one brought her around to meet their family. Friends. Lovers. No one.

And then he loved her.

She wouldn’t let him say it. Her heart couldn’t bear to hear it. There was something in her that still so badly wanted to leave, but her hatred of Hatchetfield had been dissipating since they began getting to know each other. All the more reason for her to run as fast as she could. Run as far away as humanly possible. Maybe all the way back to Guatemala. It was easier to run. Things were simpler alone. No one’s feelings mattered. She came and went as she pleased. She didn’t do emotions with other people, so why was his love so terrifying to her?

The moment he started making stupid analogies to how he felt about her without saying the dread l-o-v-e word, it hit her: she loved him, too.

Her heart clenched in her chest, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, scream, throw up, or a combination of all three. She played along and told him honestly what she was feeling. Even with wanting to run away, she wasn’t about to pull the wool over his eyes. He was better than that. Worth more than that. He was just so  _ good. _

Once the smile had faded and the chills after being called “baby” had worn off, the tears continued rolling down the sides of her face and into her hair. She didn’t know why. Hatchetfield was a horrible place with horrible memories. There was no reason for her to be attached to anything from it. Jane was gone, so it didn’t matter anymore. She had been gone for so long it should have been easy to leave again, right? But why did she want to stay?

Guatemala lacked complication. Even her longer flings didn’t last more than a month. She moved from place to place with ease. The attachments were loose and never ended in tears. Not even the worst of them. The ones where she would slip out the window in the middle of the night with a bag slung over her shoulder, slipping her shoes off as she ran off into the night. No one was sad when she was off to her next backpacking adventure. They sent her off gladly, wishing her luck on her journeys.

There was finally someone who wanted her to stay,though, and she wanted to go. Where she wanted to go, she wasn’t sure. She was in the middle of actually making something of herself, and a gangly weirdo was simultaneously making her want to stay and go as far away as her feet would take her. Strings had become attached. She stood beside them, scissors in hand.

He was warm beside her, breathing steadily in his sleep. She noticed he slept very still and quiet. If she just passed him by, she might have thought he was dead or pretending to be asleep. But that was just him. He would hold her close all night as if he knew what was running through her mind. What her mind so desperately wanted her to do. It was as if she had run already and she only just came back. He held on in a way that made her heart want to anchor down right then and there.

God, she was so fucked.

Their hands were still entwined. She couldn’t deny that she didn’t like how her hands felt in his. He was soft and warm, and everything just made sense around him. Their hands fit so well together. He fit so well against her. His presence fit so well into her chaotic life. This wasn’t what she had intended to happen. She never wanted to fall in love with him.

Love. Was that what it was?

She just wanted to have something fun with the black coffee tip guy. She thought it would be a few dates and then they’d be done. Yet here they were. Intertwined. Hearts had to go and get themselves involved. She wanted nothing more than to be able to remove herself from the situation, but it would seem that she was already in too deep. She loved him.

A light snore left his mouth. She smiled through the tears that continued down the sides of her face. There was no way this is what she would have pictured happening when she returned to Hatchetfield. Nothing said that she was going to feel more at home in a place that she hated than anywhere else in the world. This stupid dweeb had her really fucked up. Incredible.

“Hey,” she whispered, just barely above a breath. He didn’t move. She waited just a second to see if he would react. Nothing. Just snores. “Hey, I can’t… I don’t want… I can’t say it yet, but I feel it, too.” His snoring continued against her skin. It felt right to be where she was, as much as her instincts told her to run. She’d at least wait it out a little bit longer. Wait for things to inevitably go wrong. One of them would screw it up. Something would happen. Shit always happened.

But for the time being, she let her eyes slide shut, and she squeezed his hand before allowing herself to drift into sleep.


	40. Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma are affected by the COVID quarantine, but they make the best of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. Chapter 40. We're doing the thing!

The quarantine had put a damper on plans they had in the works. Not that they were ones to complain about staying in to save the world and themselves from the rapidly spreading COVID 19. There was just something that they wanted to do. Just a few things really. Particularly the wedding they had planned on springing on their loved ones the week before it was set to happen. Neither of them really cared if everyone was able to make it in to watch them put rings on each other’s fingers and tell a guy from town all that they really did want to be married. Whoever could make it would be there and if they couldn’t it was no big deal really.

The sense of impending doom, however, changed that for them. 

They had been thinking about actually committing to the wedding actively since just after New Years. The thoughts even went so far as to them picking up their marriage license from town hall in the middle of February. Sometimes it felt strange to her to be so on board with doing something she had been so hesitant about in the past. There were moments where she would twist his grandmother’s ring around on her finger and debate whether or not they should actually go through with it. Then he would walk in with a grin on his face and the cat in his arms, and she forgot all about the reluctance that had been dancing around in her brain.

April was the month they had settled on. Mid-month. Just as everything was beginning to bloom. A fresh start. A new beginning

Being forced to spend all their time in the house was not an issue for them. In fact, Paul was pretty pleased with being able to spend every day there. He didn’t mind working from home at all and had no complaints when he would go downstairs to pick at something for lunch and Emma was there. Even she had been coping pretty well heading into their second month of quarantining. She took the opportunities she could to get out and hit the grocery store, donning a mask and gloves as he implored her to do. Her brother-in-law had figured out Skype, so she and her nephew could get on there and chat as they played video games together.

Janis was very pleased to have them both around 24/7. It was a dream come true for her.

Until the day they both went out together. One car. Masks. Gloves. Hand sanitizer. The whole damn thing. They flitted about the house almost giddy. Walking on air. Teasing each other lightly. Many soft kisses. On hands. On lips. On shoulders. On necks. Light touches that could barely be considered as such. They said goodbye to the cat, and he followed her outside with his hand barely touching her lower back as they chatted about something to do with a justice of the peace, someone named Greg, and hoping Hidgens and Jack were on time.

They returned hours later with wider grins than they had when they left. Despite the overcast April skies, there was almost a glow that followed them into the house. They shed their gloves and masks and immediately washed their hands thoroughly before doing just as thorough of a job drying. He was the first to run up the stairs while she sat on the couch browsing through her phone, biting at her thumb and scrolling idly with the other hand. Her leg bounced up and down nervously, but she bit down on her lower lip to hide the smile that was growing. “Alright, eyes,” he called out from the top of the stairs. As directed, she squeezed her eyes shut, so he could make his way down the stairs, through the living room, and out the back door.

There he stood on the patio in a navy blue suit that had been tailored a little more snugly than he would have normally gone for, but he could recall from the night of his brother’s wedding Emma mumbling, “ _ You’re looking fucking  _ delicious _ in that damn thing.” _ When he decided to get one himself, slightly more comfortable than the tux his brother had chosen, he went for a slightly more fitted style, particularly in the vest and jacket. The outfit was topped off with a cognac colored pair of dress shoes and an oxblood tie. 

The shoes clicked beneath his steps as he paced around the patio. He dug a hand in his pocket, folding and refolding the sheet of paper that was in there. Dull afternoon light beat down onto the back of his neck, which he rubbed with his free hand. He examined his hand after, flipping it upside down and rightside up a few times like it was the last night he would ever see the hand. At least see it the way it was. Bare. Empty. A cool breeze passed by and relieved the heat he was suddenly realizing his face was holding onto.

It was breezy but bright out in their backyard. The water at the edge of the yard was rippling with the wind and sloshing quietly against the earth. The trees were full of leaves and life once again, dancing and singing as the air rushed past. He thought about that yard a lot. How it was perfect for when she wanted to have all of their people over for get togethers. How it was perfect for the two of them to just spend their summer afternoons out in the sun. How it would be a perfect yard to set up a tire swing in if there was an addition made to their little family. Something he hadn’t brought up with her but was weighing more and more on his conscience. It would never be something he pushed for; however, the longer he spent with her the more he could imagine a family in that house.

He couldn’t help but jump and look up at the sliding glass door when it cracked open. All he could see was the top of her head that was just leaning out into the crack in the door. “So, um, turn around I think,” she instructed, unsure of what the protocol was supposed to be. He did as he was told but chuckled in the process. What she didn’t know was that his heart leapt into his throat the moment he heard the door open the rest of the way. “Okay, um, stay turned around, and don’t fucking laugh at me when you look because I’m not good at this shit. I just thought the dress looked… I don’t know…  _ pretty _ , I guess, and Melissa wasn’t there to help me pick--”

“Emma, I’m not going to laugh at you.” His voice was earnest. Genuine. Certain. Comforting. The sound of it made tears prick the corners of her eyes. She lifted her hands to her face, index fingers pressing to the outer corners of her eyes as not to mess up the light layer of makeup she had applied. “I promise.”

He could hear a watery laugh leave her lips and had to fight the urge to turn around until she told him to. All he wanted to do was wrap her up in a hug. Just hold her for hours. Days. Years. He was going to hold onto her for the rest of their lives. His heart raced in his chest. Behind him, her breathing was steadying. In deep through the nose. Out heavy through the mouth. Calming.

“Okay,” she finally whispered. He took his own deep breath in before turning around, not wanting to seem as eager as he was feeling. “But remember no laughing.” When his eyes landed on her, he could barely breathe, let alone laugh at her. She was so small, which he sometimes forgot because she herself just seemed larger than life, but standing there nervous in a white dress, he was reminded.

The dress was lace. Not what he expected her to go for, but stunning nonetheless. The neckline dipped gently over her chest, held up by two thin straps. The sleeves hung loosely at her upper arms, leaving her shoulders exposed. The material came in at her waist and hung onto her hips, running straight down until the pool of lace at her feet. She would not look at him, but he could see a subtle shadow on her eyelids and a burgundy lip because he always mentioned how much he loved when she pulled out the red lipstick. Her hair had been pulled up and out of her face on one side, leaving a pile of curls to tumble over her other shoulder.

When she did eventually look up at him, his hand was clapped over his mouth, but she could see in his eyes that he was smiling despite the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. “You can’t cry, you fucking dope,” she laughed, but the cracking in her voice gave away her own emotions. “If you cry, I’ll cry, so don’t you fucking cry. I put fucking makeup on my face for this. I can’t cry.”

“Okay,” he choked out, trying to will the tears back into his eyes. He sucked a deep breath in and held it there for a moment. In response, she bit down on her lip and closed her eyes. Releasing the breath, he reached out with the intention of grabbing her by the waist, but in true Paul fashion, he settled on his hands resting on her shoulders. “What?”

Her eyes remained shut. “I don’t want to fucking cry because I shouldn’t cry,” she told him. She opened her eyes again to find him still struggling to keep the flood gates closed. “Fuck, Paul. You’re killing me here.”

He shrugged, wiping at one eye with the back of his hand. “But I didn’t kill my wife,” he laughed, another tear sneaking out.

“Oh my  _ god,” _ she groaned, a chuckle lacing her tone. She pressed her index finger into the corner of her eye. “Look what you’ve done to me, you absolute fucking noodle.” Their eyes caught for a moment, and he felt the same electricity he did from the very beginning. His hands found her cheeks, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses. He could feel her smile against his mouth. “I don’t think you were supposed to do that yet.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“I’ve corrupted you.”

“That’s okay.”

“It sure as shit better be, buddy boy. You’re in this for the long haul now. You signed--”

A raindrop fell between them. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, looking up at the sky only to receive another drop directly into his eye. “What the  _ hell?” _ Just as suddenly the few drops began falling, the whole sky seemed to release all at once. Torrential rain. Heavy and fast. “Oh, jeez, Em we should--”

She burst out into laughter, holding her hands out as if she was going to catch the rain between her open fingers. They were both already drenched, and if the coronavirus didn’t get them, whatever illness they caught from being out in the rain would. Despite the thought of coming down with some sort of illness, he joined in her laughter. This isn’t what he had wanted for the afternoon, but then again, when had things ever gone exactly the way they wanted them to?

“Em,” he called out through the hard rainfall. She smiled wide at him in response. The patterns in her now running mascara told him that it wasn’t just the rain causing it to stream down her face. “I had this whole big thing all written out. It was going to be this whole big thing, and I was probably going to cry, but I’m pretty sure that the paper is probably disintegrating in my pocket right now.” She laughed again this time not at the situation but at this fucking dork. “So I’m going to do my best to run with...I don’t know…  _ something _ , okay?” She nodded. “Okay.

“I don’t… I don’t believe in soulmates or fate or destiny or any of that shit. It’s just hokey stuff that was created to sell romance novels and books I’m pretty sure. That being said, if there was anything that would make me believe in that stuff, it would be you. When I met you, I was drifting through my days like a fucking robot, but then you told a guy to shove a caramel frap up his ass and you flipped my world around. I fell in love with you on the spot even if I didn’t realize it then.”

“Weird thing to be into, but okay.”

“See? Then you do that shit. You give me a hard time  _ all _ the fucking time,” he continued, not acknowledging that it was absolutely a strange moment to fall in love with someone. “And I was so fucking sure I was going to spend the rest of my life alone. Which was fine because, Emma, I  _ really _ don’t like people, and I really,  _ really _ like not having to deal with them. But I… I don’t want to be alone anymore. All I can picture are days with you in them. Thinking about you not being in my life… I don’t know. I’d rather be in a fucking musical.”

She threw her head back in laughter, and he joined her with light, watery chuckles. When she brought her attention back to him, his lips were pursed as he stared at her. “I really don’t believe in whatever the fuck people want to say a soulmate is, but if I was going to, I think this is it.” He grabbed her hand, turning his focus to their intertwined fingers. “ _ You’re _ it for me. And I can’t promise that I’m not going to frustrate you because I already do that all the time. It’s not going to be perfect, and I sure as shit won’t be either.

“But I’m going to choose you every single day. I’ll choose fighting with you. And being made fun of by you. And getting extremely hungover from whatever fucking poison you put into drinks.” He looked back up at her with a small, sheepish smile. “You’re the best adventure I’ve ever been pushed into taking, Em. You push me every single day, and god, I love you more and more every time I look at you. That’s all I can confidently promise you. I know I can see that one through. I promise to love you every day for the rest of my life, and we’ll work on making all the other shit happen.”

His hand slipped into the pocket of his now drenched suit jacket to retrieve the dainty silver band. Lifting her left hand, he sniffled and shook his head. “You make things better,” he said just loud enough to be barely audible through the rain. “And I used to think that you were my dream girl. I don’t know about that anymore because I think you’re better than a dream. You’re here, and you’re real. You brought light back into my life. I just… love you.” Gently, he slipped the ring over her wet finger while she wiped at her face with the back of her other hand. “Don’t cry, you nerd.”

She snorted. “How am I supposed to go after that?” she asked once he let go of her hand. Both of her hands went up to her cheeks, wiping away the makeup that had smudged down them. “I didn’t even actually write anything. I was just going to wing it, but shit, can I just say ‘ditto’ and call it a day?”

“Honestly, you could do anything you want today,” he replied with a beaming smile on his lips. It was genuine, and she knew it. She was well aware that she could probably get away with almost anything with him. He was so patient and forgiving. There was no ability within him to hold a grudge. At least toward her.

“Listen, Paul,” she muttered, trying to get the words to string together in her head. This must have been what he felt like all the fucking time. She didn’t care for this shit one bit. “I’m not good at this shit. You know that. I wasn’t built for this whole fucking thing.” She gestured between them. “I mean,  _ this _ is a pretty wild thing for me to be doing.” The next motion was toward the dress, which was holding up surprisingly well in the rain. It wasn’t how she intended to look, but the material wasn’t sagging too badly even though it was full of water.

“You’ve kind of changed everything,” she admitted, looking up into his dumb wet handsome face. “I didn’t want any of this shit. I didn’t want to come back to Hatchetfield and fucking stay, but now I’m here and… and I don’t want to leave.” She could feel the lump in her throat building. “I didn’t want to get into anything. I didn’t want to fucking get attached, but then you kept coming in and buying our shit coffee. You definitely drank my spit.” A laugh sounded through the rain. “I thought we’d go on a date and then things would fizzle out. Maybe we’d bone on your couch and I’d leave before the morning. That… wasn’t how things went though, huh?”

“No, but we can still bone on the couch if you want.”

“I’m going to fucking hold you to that, man,” she shot back with a choked out laugh. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “Fuck.” She went to wipe them away, but her whole face was wet. Raindrops rolled down her cheeks, mixing with her tears. “Look at this. I’ve turned into a big fucking softy, and it’s all your fucking fault. You came in and handled all the… sharp parts of me. Came in through the metaphorical fucking wall of thorns, and you… you love me and I still don’t know how that happened.

“It wasn’t what I thought was going to happen. Hell, it wasn’t what I wanted to happen,” she carried on, still looking right up into his eyes. “I kept waiting for things to fall apart, but they just got fucking better. Even when you made me want to pluck my eyes out when you wouldn’t tell me I annoyed you, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. There wasn’t a single other fucking human I wanted to fight with.

“I don’t know how it fucking happened, but you became my favorite person to be around. I started to look forward to coming home because it wasn’t a place I was thinking about.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, chuckling. “Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking believe the cliche shit that’s about to leave my mouth.” Her eyes opened up to him again. “You’re home, you asshole. It was like being away for a long time and laying in my bed for the first time in a long time. Maybe the first time ever. I don’t know.

“You’re the only fucking person I’ve ever been in love with, and it’s terrifying. You… you could really fuck me up if you wanted to, you know that? Which is something I’ve never had any kind of interest in." Taking a deep breath in, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "The insane thing is I know you wouldn't fuck me up because that's not what you fucking do. You're just…  _ nice. _ And for whatever fucking reason you car about me. And the  _ even crazier _ thing is that you made me care about you, too.

"You're... incredible. And you're smart and thoughtful. You've been so fucking patient with me every single moment. I wish I could give you just as much in return, but I know I can't. I can only promise to love you. Because somewhere along the way that fucking happened, you rat bastard. I love you every goddamn day, and I think I'll continue to do that for as long as I have on this god forsaken planet. And when I can't be patient or thoughtful, I can guarantee that I’ll be right in your fucking corner, waiting for you to tag me in to fight. I’ll be right here for you to put your coldass feet on in the middle of the night. When you need to figure out what to make out of the three things you have left in the fridge, I’m your fucking woman!”

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized that her hands were shaking. She was just shaking in general. It could have been the cold. It could have been nerves. She didn’t know. And frankly, she didn’t really care. Poking her hand into a space in the side of her dress. “Oh yeah, also! Pockets! Fucking sick, right?” she spat out. He laughed in response, but the laughter was shaky. Through tears maybe. Why were they fucking crying so much? Couple of soft assholes. From the pocket, she produced a ring. The one he liked to wear around the house in the months leading up to that day. She pulled his hand into hers, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles. “I’ve got your back. We’re a team,” her voice was barely above a whisper as she gazed down at their hands. “It’s kind of funny, right?” She glanced up at him to find he had no idea what she was going for. His brows knit together in confusion. “This is how we met. Like  _ really _ met. In the rain outside of Beanies, remember?”

“I do.”

“Oooh, you said it. Now you’ve gotta marry me. Fucking sucker!”

“You fell in love with a sucker, you sucker.”

Normally, a quip would come quickly to her to shut him down as best she could, but in that moment, there was nothing but this warm feeling that was spreading from her gut up into her chest. Maybe her appendix had burst and those were her final moments? She didn’t think that was too likely at all. “I guess I did, huh?” was all she said while sliding the ring over his finger. 

She held his hand with both of hers for a second. It still felt surreal at times. Less like it was all going to suddenly disappear and be gone forever and more like she was going to wake up in a different time to find things almost the same. Maybe Jane would be there. Maybe they would be in the old house. Maybe Hatchetfield wouldn’t even play a role. The idea of fate had been stuck in her head for a long time. Feeling like this had happened before. Like she already knew him and all his quirks. The sensation of instant comfort with someone who was initially a stranger.

Her eyes found his and she smirked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “I think this is the part where we kiss,” she suggested. All he could do was grin. He looked like a wet puppy. Hair flopped down over his forehead. Suit soaked completely through. But he still had the brightest smile she had ever seen. “What’re you waiting for, dork? Let’s do this thing.”

His arms looped around her back and pulled her up off the ground. She followed in suit with her arms around his neck. He held her at eye level with him just long enough to scan over her face. The very same one that made his head spin all those times at Beanies. The same one he got to wake up next to every morning. The same one he felt he had been dreaming of his whole life. When their lips met, a jolt of excitement ran through his entire body. From his head all the way down to his toes. She tasted like peppermint chapstick and toothpaste. Nothing out of the norm, but his heart was racing more than usual. He pulled her tighter against him. Her hand ran through the hair on the back of his head. If there were such a thing as a soul mate, his was a five foot firecracker with a foul mouth and a bigger heart than she would ever let on.

The rain slowed as they broke away. They knocked their foreheads together, breaths for both of them running shallow. She spoke first: “I’m keeping my name just so you know.”

“Emma,” he chuckled breathlessly. “I don’t fucking care about names.” He placed her back on the ground and rested his hands on her cheeks. Unreal. This was the same woman he developed a one sided crush on while she served him coffee and made polite retail worker small chat. The pads of his thumbs ran over her cheekbones. “I don’t care if you change your name to Asscheek McFuckface. I just want you. That’s it.”

Her laugh rang through the air. His favorite sound. “Okay,” she said, tugging him back down to her by the lapel of his jacket. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do, and it’s that. But for what it’s worth, I just want you, too.  _ And _ I guess you could tell people I said that. I think my reputation for being a bad bitch was ruined a long time ago.”

“You’ll always be a bad bitch to me.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she groaned, placing a quick peck on his lips. “Let’s get inside, so we don’t get pneumonia and die, idiot.”

“I can’t believe it. We haven’t even been married a whole day, and you’re bossing me around.”

“Yeah, get used to it, bub. You're stuck with me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this. I have immensely enjoyed writing it, and I'm sorry that it's being brought to a close. It's been such a joy to share this with all of you, and don't you freaking worry. There's going to be a follow up series to this bad boy. THIS AIN'T IT FOR MY FLUFFY LIL BASTARD CHILDREN. Stay tuned, friends!


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